


Pride and Shame

by SSJ_Katal (kingdjango)



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship/Love, NO FUCKING MARY SUES, OC, Training, no mary sue, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingdjango/pseuds/SSJ_Katal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Future Trunks Timeline - Androids/Cell Sagas</p>
<p>After being raised by a human family in secret, a Saiyan girl emerges to fight the androids. But when Bulma Briefs discovers her beaten and broken at South City hospital, her entire life--and the entire timeline--is set to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shards

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, let's make one thing clear from the get-go: I DON'T DO MARY SUES.
> 
> To sully the legacy of characters I know and love with a shitty self-insert or a rando half-saiyan/half-namek/half-god hybrid who curbstomps them all would be a crime punishable by banishment. Or death. Whichever comes first.
> 
> I've loved Dragonball Z since I was eight years old. I've been a part of this fandom for almost 15 years. I know the canon backwards. I know the fandom backwards. Trust me. I promise, you're in good hands.

A warm, frothy sunrise began the day. Vast, rolling fields surrounding a country cottage warmed to a honeydew verdigris, tinges of gold skimming the tops of the grass blades.

The house was nestled at the edge of a wood, which framed the foothills of the Southern mountain range. The cottage, craftsman-style with touches of kitsch, was peacefully teeming with the smells of Lilina’s cooking. Lilina twittered like a robin as she flipped a slice of toast in her frying pan. She had made an enormous breakfast, teeming with various meats and cheeses. Far too much food for her and her husband, who sat in his favorite recliner, another draft of his research paper in hand. John had only hardened over the years. A few stray wrinkles—mostly frown lines—betrayed his age, but barely. His square jaw, lightly tinted with stubble, was set in an expression of either irritation or pondering as he read down the lines through his angular spectacles. Lilina’s constant stream of speech in the background only mildly annoyed him.  It was a staple that only seemed to occur in the mornings anyhow. As long as he grunted in agreement at times, she would eventually stop after she finished cooking. In truth, Lilina only used her morning banter to fill the silence, sometimes masking the creak of a back door as a long brown tail crept past the frame.

Katal slunk along the maroon hallway wall into her room, carefully sliding the door shut behind her. The idyllic conditions and lack of overall fatigue had made it a later training night than usual, and she was ready to sneak in a morning catnap before her mother called her in for breakfast. Unfortunately, she would receive no such luck.  
She had just managed to bundle herself up in the covers of her quilt when Lilina opened the door to her room.

“Late again,” Lilina whispered irritably. “I had to jabber on for twice as long as normal.”

Katal winced and grudgingly rose.

“Sorry.”

“Get in the kitchen.”

Not one to anger her adoptive mother, Katal quickly tore off her shoes and threw on a pair of pajamas over her fighting gear before meeting her family in the open front portion of the house. John gave a quick nod to her presence, which she did not return.

“It’s time to eat,” Lilina called, “John, put that paper away.”

Breakfast at the Whites’ consisted of uncomfortable smalltalk and Katal eating enough to feed a small village. She’d always had an abnormally ravenous appetite, which John and Lilina agreed (in private) to chalk up to growing. This one had started that way, idle banter between the patrons at the table, Katal rolling her eyes when Lilina—again—commented on how much she could eat. And then John noticed something.

“What are those?” he asked in a low voice.

Katal stopped chewing her sixth slice of toast, and slowly lowered her fork.

“What?”

“Your hands.”

Katal froze and moved her fingers around. To her horror, she felt leather over her knuckles. Her favorite black fighting gloves…which somehow, she was still wearing. Katal’s tail tightened about her waist. A resounding tension filled the room like a three ton weight. Katal had only been caught training a few times, and the result was always the same. John would kick her out for a hot second before Lilina would reason her way back in. Then John wouldn’t speak to either of them for days. Lilina immediately rose and picked up the next load of plates, transferring them into the kitchen.  The only sound left was the radio playing an older music station in the background.

“How long?” John said finally.

There was no point in objecting.

“Per night?” Katal replied, maintaining a level tone.

“You—” John coughed.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Katal said, “You’ve seen them. How strong they are.”

“You’ve never listened to me. Listen now. You have no chance.”

“And how would you know?” she snapped.

“Because everyone who has ever tried has failed. That gold fighter or the purple-haired swordsman? They’re dead, Katal! Because they fought those monsters.”

The radio cut to static for a moment, causing all three individuals to turn and stare. A few painful seconds ticked by, before the alarm signaling the arrival of the Androids sounded. The man on the wire was shouting, and people were screaming. Explosions sounded in the background as the man ordered a total evacuation of South City. Katal stood up from the table.

“Don’t you even think about it!” John ordered, but knew better than to block her path.

Katal walked wordlessly to the door, unheeding of her adoptive father’s words. Lilina practically begged her to sit down and finish her meal, clutching at Katal's draping pajamas as if they were lifelines. The girl removed them to reveal her fighting outfit, and deposited them into Lilina’s hands.

It was the last thing she ever gave her mother.

\--

The coming rain filled the potholes and cracks in the concrete. Steam rose from the small fires slowly dying in the downpour, and the grime of the city turned the roads a tie-dyed mixture of black and gruesome brown. The Androids’ latest spree had left South City in ruin. Most of the buildings had been leveled, some for the third time in the last decade. The Androids had effaced the camps on the outskirts of town, leaving few alive. Whether by mercy or through apathy, they didn’t bother to kill the survivors. After all, it made for good sport in the long run. Katal lay beaten and bloodied in the middle of the destruction, soaked through to the bone. Her long black hair fanned out in tangles onto the road. Bruises, fresh cuts and ugly scrapes littered her skin. Red spattered her shirt, which rose and fell erratically with her shallow breaths. Her gaunt face looked ghostly underneath her shaggy mane, the bangs sticking to her forehead. Drops dewed on the tip of her nose and ran down her face, through the dry cracks on her lips and over her jaw. Her hands, covered with black, fingerless leather gloves, tensed up as another wave of pain surged over her. She convulsed, and the damp, furry tail on her backside curled up into a spiral with the rest of her body.

Honestly. What did she expect?

The sound of an ambulance horn and slamming doors jolted her into consciousness again. Fearful, angry voices rang in her eardrums, making her migraine all the worse. Before she knew it, she was being lifted off the ground and into a stretcher, her sprained neck unceremoniously wrenched into a support. She invited darkness to swathe over her like a quilt.

Who knows how much time had passed before Katal’s dark eyes flickered open. Searing fluorescent lights assaulted her vision, nearly blinding her. The medical stench made her nostrils flare, and the scratchy fabric loosely draping over her made her desperately want to itch.

_Hospital. Figures._

Eventually, she was able to ease the transition into the light by ratcheting her eyelids open in increments. Once they were open, she wished that she hadn’t. Lilina and John immediately rushed to her bedside. Tears streamed down Lilina’s bright face, smearing her makeup and reddening her already puffy cheeks. Katal winced and tried to pull back, but the bandages on her arm and shoulder restrained her. She didn’t want to speak, and didn’t even know if she could. Her throat was so dry. Katal swallowed and coughed once. John’s spectacles flashed in the cold light. Katal curled her lip, and squinted her eyes shut. Her head ached, and her shoulder screamed in pain.

“I’ve been hiding long enough,” she said through gritted teeth, forcing the words out through her parched throat, “I had to try.”

“You can barely put up a fight against them,” John bit out. “What are you trying to prove?”

Katal coughed out an incredulous grunt. Her lungs burned, and the stale air of the hospital didn’t help any. Too angry to give up, she forced herself upright with her good arm. A glass filled with water caught her eye from the side table. She eagerly snatched it and downed it in a single gulp. John’s expression darkened. He stepped between his wife and the ailing girl, teeth bared.

“If this is how you want to treat us, then don’t expect to come home when you’re finished pulling yourself together again.”

Lilina bit down on her lip and ruffled the folds of her flower-print dress. Katal collapsed back onto the bed, her pain too unbearable to sit up any longer.

“Then leave,” she said, “Nothing’s stopping you.”

John pursed his lips and wrapped an arm around his despondent wife, who had buried her face in her hands. Katal's stomach lurched, and a wave of guilt washed over her.

She hadn’t expected it, especially after what her “father” had said. But she didn’t want to take out her anger on Lilina, the only one of the two standing before her that showed her kindness during her childhood. Adoptive or not, Katal did find a mother in her. At least she called her so. Lilina only buried her head deeper into her husband’s chest, refusing to look at her injured daughter. John cleared his throat.

The Whites strode slowly out of her room, letting the door shut behind them with a thud. A muffled cry came from outside the door, gradually fading as they drifted further away. Katal tightened her lips together into a thin line, but she refused to betray herself to the tears bursting behind her eyes. The pain in her shoulder caused her eyes to shut, and she graciously accepted the dark. Sleep was her sanctuary now.

\--

“Another attack?”

A middle-aged, blue-haired scientist sat behind a long, metal desk, only now just stopping work on a piece of machinery. She leaned back and readjusted her ponytail, stretching her arms over the back of her chair. Bulma Brief had long since stopped focusing on running the largest company on the globe, now spending most of her time creating new technology for the Android relief effort or working on the time machine. If this future couldn’t be saved, maybe someone else’s might.

The radio crackled and cut out, with only crumbs of the report getting through.

“Androids…South City…grim outcome…”

Bulma shook it, then smacked it on the side of her cluttered metallic worktable. It fizzled and sparked, going dead.

“Piece of junk!” she grumbled to no one in particular.

Her project lay on the table, unfinished and at an impasse. She adjusted the sleeve of her blouse, figuring now that she could at least spend the time fixing the radio.

It took a few minutes of tweaking before the faulty machine worked again. Solemn voices reporting on streamed out of the speaker, causing the blue-haired scientist to sigh and lower her head to the table. It was about time to check on Trunks; maybe she could spare listening to the news today. Just as she reached for the button to silence the thing, the tone of the speaker changed.

“The Androids made short work of the bulk of the city. But in the middle of the Androids’ spree, we received reports of yet another fighter coming out of the woodwork to defend the city against the attack.”

Bulma quickly dialed the volume up, set down her work tools and leaned into the radio.

“No one has yet come forward with any information on the fighter other than the fact that she is a young woman with black hair and…is this right?”

There was a brief muffled exchange.

“Apparently reports have surfaced that this female fighter had a—tail. Yes, a tail.”

Bulma’s jaw dropped.

“We’ve also received reports that this girl may have perished in the chaos. Only time will tell to see if she resurfaces.”

Bulma was out of her chair and flying up the stairs before the reporter could say another word. In a matter of seconds, she had reached the infirmary and wrenched the door open.

“TRUNKS!”

The young man, who had also been resting gingerly on a hospital bed, jumped out of his skin at his mother’s call. His long, muscular body was covered in bandages, with his left leg in a plaster cast. He slid a rough hand over his large brows and down his knifelike nose, slowly waking up from a fitful sleep. The rough, angular features of his face were mostly exposed, though he had stitches over one of his pensive periwinkle eyes. The Androids had given him his own beating just the day before; the same fate he received every time he encountered them. Only bits of his lavender hair escaped the coverings on his head, and what hair not covered stood straight on end.

“What?!”

“There’s a report on the news! It’s about the Androids…”

Trunks rolled his eyes and let his head collapse onto the cotton pillow.

"I told you I don’t want to hear them.” he growled.

The blue-haired woman sighed and switched on the radio by his bedside table. She knew full well what fire she played with by bringing up the Androids while her son lay in bed, injured and helpless. He hated listening to the broadcasts, even when well. Listening to the pain and suffering and being unable to stop it became unbearable for him. And it had only gotten worse since his sensei’s passing. Gohan was everything to Trunks, a father, brother and trainer wrapped into one. Bulma grieved nearly as much as Trunks did after learning of his death. Gohan didn’t have an evil bone in his body. He didn’t deserve the cruel fate that those cold machines inflicted—for sport, no less. What she would give to restore hope to her son—hope that they had both long since lost. At least now there might be a chance.

“Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.”

The speaker fizzled for a moment, and began broadcasting.

“Crews in South City are working diligently to seek out survivors after the latest attack by the Androids. They attacked without warning around 8:45 am yesterday, leaving few alive and the city in total chaos.”

“Mom…Turn it off,” Trunks groaned.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He’d seen enough destruction for a lifetime in his years. If only for a moment, he wanted peace and quiet.

“Just wait!” Bulma snapped.

“As we reported earlier,” the reporter continued, “A new heroic fighter has emerged from out of nowhere to take on the Androids.”

Trunks’ eyes opened wide.

“No one has come forward with any information regarding the warrior. All we know now is that it is a she, and she has a tail.”

Quiet fell, with yet another muffled exchange.

“Breaking news. We’ve just received witness reports that the young woman is alive, but badly injured at the hands of the Androids. We bring you live to South City Hospital, where she is rumored to be in stable condition.”

Bulma’s heart dropped. The press would be all over this, and she did not want them prying into this matter if what she thought was true. In a flash, she was at the door to the infirmary, picking up the telephone on the wall and dialing rapidly.

“Hello…Yes, this is Bulma Brief…Have you heard the press reports?”

Ever since the first Saiyan arrival, she’d had the largest hand in making the world “forget” about the occurrences. Aside from nuclear holocaust, and the Androids, there wasn’t a thing that her team couldn’t keep under wraps.

“So you’re already working on a cover story…” Bulma said, “Yes…Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

The blue-haired scientist replaced the phone onto its base, walked over, and flicked off the radio.

“Why haven’t I seen this girl before…I’ve been fighting these monsters for years, and she’s never showed up,” Trunks mused to himself.

Bulma put her hands on her hips.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Maybe she just got here?”

“Not possible. We would have definitely known about it.”

Trunks raised the eyebrow not stitched up. He knew his mother had dealt with Saiyans before. Namely, his own father, and a childhood friend. To hear that resolute tone, though, meant that there was more to it. Bulma exhaled sharply and sat down at the foot of his hospital bed.

“After the first Saiyans besides Goku came to this planet, your grandpa and I agreed that we wanted to know more about them. Ever since, I’ve had a very small team of scientists—well, two mainly—studying the pods that have crashed here. They were really into it, but I didn’t let on too much. We had three pods for a long time, until the Androids blew up our storage facility. The program effectively ended after that.”

Trunks slowly raised his body up to a seated position. It wasn’t easy, considering the internal bruising from his last fight.

“So,” he said, “Did they know that my father was? What about Goku? And Gohan?”

Bulma put a hand on his bandaged shoulder to relax the anxious warrior.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t about to have people questioning if my husband and best friend were aliens.”

“Where are they now?” he asked.

Bulma thought a moment.

“They lived near South City! Oh, crap. If they knew about this...they’d be at that hospital in a heartbeat.”

“Then you need to get down there,” Trunks said. His lungs seized at the exertion, causing him to cough violently and collapse back into his bed. Bulma had her hand on his chest in an instant, shushing him. Trunks let his eyes flutter closed, unable to protest even if he wanted to. Bulma smiled sadly and spread a blanket over his body.

“I’ll get there as fast as I can. In the meantime, you just rest.”

Bulma headed out the door and into the front yard, where a warm, moist breeze caught her hair. She threw a dyno-cap into the wind. With a loud poof, a jet appeared, landing softly on the grass.

_I can only hope I’ll get there first,_ she thought.

Trunks heard her departure through the window of the infirmary. A hundred thoughts whizzed through his head. Here he was, stuck in a hospital bed while his mother went out, unguarded, to search for a new potential Saiyan, one who could potentially have the Androids on her tail. He clutched at the blanket and started to shiver.

\--

The weather was bracing, but clear. The last reports of the Androids had come from the other side of the planet. Before his mother could rise, Trunks slipped on his favorite cobalt blue Capsule jacket and flew out into the open sky, making way for the Triceratops Jungle, not too far from his hometown of West City. Frankly, he’d trained in the mountains too often for his liking. He needed room to roam. The purple-haired youth’s uncovered fingers protested the high altitude’s chilling gale on as his knuckles cut through the air. The feeling was exhilarating; he couldn’t wait to get started. He found a small clearing on top of a hill near a lake, the mound of dirt rising just above the forest’s canopy. It looked big enough, so he made a beeline for it. The temperature increased exponentially as he dropped, the sudden updraft warming his flushed cheeks.

He landed with a tap on the fresh grass and inhaled fresh air into his lungs.

When he wasn’t working with his mother on the time machine or fending off the Androids, he took to experiencing nature. Its beauty grounded him in the world, helping to remind him that the Earth had more to offer than chaos and death. Nature, untouched by human or Android, filled him with hope. Perhaps one day, the Earth would return to peace, like the placid waters of the lake in front of him. He remembered Gohan talking about the Earth before the Androids. While he was too young to remember it, his older Sensei experienced it in full after the defeat of Frieza. Gohan also had a fondness for places like these, a much stronger one than Trunks’. He grew up around it, in the middle of a beautiful valley near Mt. Paozu. Trunks lived his life in the city, going to the grocery for food (or the surviving stores once the Androids came.) But Gohan…Gohan caught fish fresh from the lake, or gathered berries from the bushes near the river. He didn’t just experience nature; he lived nature. A well of anger gathered in the pit of Trunks’ stomach. Now Gohan was dead. The Androids had taken him away without a second thought, for sport. Trunks let out a yell into the vast emptiness of the cloudless sky. The ground began to shake, making the birds from the trees around him take to the air. Leaves fell from the trees as a mighty gale surrounded the boy, his ki swelling to the mass proportions of legend.

A blinding yellow aura erupted from the boy as he went Super Saiyan. The purple hair atop his head blazed gold, and his cool, pale eyes had changed to a fiery shade of turquoise. It had been some time since the last time the demisaiyan transformed, and this time proved difficult. For too long he’d suppressed his power; now he’d forgotten what it felt like to release it. He could not waste time, as it took a lot of energy to hold the Super Saiyan state. Without delay, he leapt into the air and began sparring with an imaginary partner, throwing punches and kicks faster than the eye could see. He might have been in the air for hours, but it felt like only seconds had passed as he kept kicking and striking wildly.

All of it ended once he spotted an explosion in the distance.

—

The beep of the IV monitor forced Trunks’ eyes open. How long had he been out? Trunks wiped at his eye with the back of his hand, hoping to clear his blurred focus as he looked at the clock. His heart sank. Only an hour had gone by since his mother had left.

Everything had gone to hell since he’d gotten back to his time. For the last few years, Bulma had perfected the technology to build a time machine in hopes of stopping this from ever occurring. He was able to go to the past and back successfully. But instead of changing for the better, things had only gotten worse upon his return. The Androids still reigned as if nothing had happened, and the world was still in chaos. The time machine had been a long shot at best, but he had at least had something to hope for. Furious and desperate, he decided to continue training in hopes of one day finishing them off for good. He could only hope that his actions in the other timeline were not in vain.

With a huff, he tucked the blanket further over his shoulder and adjusted whatever non-casted body parts he had left. This would be a long recovery.  
  
—


	2. Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma absconds with Katal to Capsule Corporation. There, Katal meets another fighter who has failed against the androids, one that has more in common with her than she could ever imagine.

A soft breeze woke Katal, who lay in splints and casts on the stretcher. It was a bit chilly for her taste, adding to her already stormy mood. A nurse must have opened the window to freshen the room, but that made little difference to the injured girl. The stale air of the hospital might have suffocated her, ridding her of that pesky burning guilt in her chest. Each time she thought of her adoptive mother, another pang spread through her ribcage. Lilina never did her harm, and she was the last person Katal wanted to cause pain. She cherished the bond between them. Though she never admitted it openly, she felt a small sense of pride when Lilina called her the “Treasure from the Stars.” Of course it was cheesy, and Katal always protested to save face.

Ever since she was small, John had never shown her much kindness. They got into countless arguments, mostly about Katal's overwhelming need to fight. He openly acknowledged that she wasn’t “like them.” At first Katal suspected her tail to be the culprit but never felt the need to hide or remove it. The spark of wisdom, knowing that she was right and John was wrong, kept her going, and falling back to her mother. The two scientists had stayed together, so Lilina must have seen something in him, but Katal couldn’t fathom what it was.

A rundown-looking nurse shoved the door to Katal's room open with her bottom, clumsily moving a cart through the frame. A rubbery meal sat atop it, with another much-desired glass of water set beside the tray.

“Sit up for me,” the nurse more commanded than asked.

Katal pushed her legs into the bed and ratcheted herself up. Her shoulder already felt better, to her surprise. The nurse popped open the table attached to the side of the hospital bed, and thrust the meal on top, nearly spilling the glass.

“Enjoy,” was her laconic last address, before exiting the room.

Katal examined the paltry spread, an apple, a lukewarm microwave meal of meat and potatoes and a tiny cup of chocolate pudding. She grimaced. This would barely suffice for table scraps. Her tail tensed and coiled around her thigh as her stomach groaned in protest. It would have to do. She reached first for the glass of water, but thought instead to use it as a rinse to follow the inevitably unpleasant fare. Instead the shoved the entire tray of meat and potatoes into her mouth with two single bites, then tore into the chocolate pudding. Scanty and disgusting or not, she was starving. The apple, core and all, disappeared into her gullet with the rush of water from the glass. She winced and forced the liquid down. Even the water tasted stale.

To pass the time, Katal took to staring out the window into the now decimated city. The amount of destruction caused by two machines still awed her, even after facing them firsthand. She smiled wryly. That battle had been the highest and lowest point in her life. Even now she could see the lines where her ki blasts ran up the roads, or gaping holes where she’d crashed into buildings. She remembered the unimaginable pain, and knew she would do it again in a heartbeat. It was her first experience with the Androids, and she didn’t know what to expect when she finally got close to them. Their creator had outfitted them with paragon human teenage bodies, incredibly beautiful and useful. On the outside, the machines appeared fragile and docile, youthful even. Aside from the hair, she could barely tell them apart. The female, Android Eighteen, sported golden locks, cropped at the shoulder and parted in the center. Android Seventeen, the male, had the same haircut, except in jet black and wore a callous smirk that made Eighteen’s look almost gleeful.

Their facade didn’t fool her for long. As soon as their gazes had met hers, her blood had run cold. She would not soon forget the fiercely empty, malicious eyes. They were a cool blue, no other color tones in between. A gloss ran over them, like they were seeing through fog; yet they pierced like daggers. To stare into the cold eyes the Androids was to explore a void. There was nothing else to see but one’s own terrified reflection. How foolish she had been, standing so cockily at the start of the battle. She had the element of surprise after all. Surely they wouldn’t expect the strength she possessed. It had taken her years to build it up in secret, and that proved difficult while having to keep it suppressed. Only after she missed every punch, and felt every crushing blow did she realize how impetuous her action had been. The Androids had made a punching bag out of her within the first few seconds, arguing over whether to kill her or not.  Every time they had called her weak, it had only added fuel to the fire. She would somehow manage to get up, as if pulled by an invisible string tied to her unbending willpower. This had only served to irritate the Androids; they had responded in kind with harder and harder strikes to keep her down, the last of which separated her shoulder and knocked her out cold.

A bitter smirk spread itself on her face. One day, she would defeat them. Until then, they’d better be waiting.

Rustling of footsteps and frantic voices shook her from her fantasy. Something was happening outside the door. Katal tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed to get into a defensive stance. She only managed to shift a few inches before a sharp pain shot through her left leg from the kneecap down. Now she remembered; during the battle she had tried to bring a hefty kick to Seventeen’s skull, but his arm blocked the path. He may have had the skin of a human, but his bones were carbon steel. Her shin must have fractured, the pain only just reaching her. She sufficed for her left arm as her only guard, her right shoulder still out of commission and her legs immobile. But her guard dropped as a blue-haired woman, flanked on both sides by panicky nurses, entered the room. The woman looked disheveled and ordinary, but by the way everyone acted, she must have been a queen.

It only took Bulma one look at the girl in the bed to confirm her suspicions.

“Oh yeah. They weren’t kidding.”

Katal watched the woman cross the room. While the nurses had been intimidated, this one was fearless. Bulma marked Katal’s expression.

“Ah. Probably should introduce myself first,” she laughed.

She brushed a stand of her hair out of her eyes and made her way to the side of the bed, eagerly holding out a hand.

“Bulma Brief.”

Katal froze. The Bulma Brief?

“And you are?” Bulma asked.

Katal's tail released from her thigh and slid around her waist. With a flick of her wrist, the intrusive woman shooed out the nurses. This woman didn’t play games, and she wasn’t about to let her guard down, injured or otherwise.

“Answer me first,” Katal replied, “What are you even doing here?”

The blue-haired woman chuckled. No one had dared address her like that for close to two decades.

“Yup. You’re Saiyan alright.”

“I’m saying what?”

Bulma faltered for a moment.

“You…you don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

Bulma shook her head, thinking a moment.

“Nurse!” she called.

A flustered man jumped into the room faster than Katal could blink.

“Yes ma’am!”

“What’s this patient’s name?”

“White, Katal White.”

“You know, I’m sitting right here,” Katal protested.

"White…?” Bulma paused for a moment. She knew that name. It couldn’t be coincidence. The heiress pulled out her cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Katal snapped.

“Shh!” Bulma shot back.

Katal winced and tucked her arms protectively into her chest. She could stop Bulma easily, but a part of her was honestly curious as to where this was going. Bulma put the phone on speaker.

“Hello, John? It’s Bulma Brief.”

Katal’s heart dropped into her stomach. She frantically made a slashing motion across her throat, which Bulma ignored.

“Mrs. Brief!” John exclaimed on the other line, “My goodness, how unexpected. H-how can I help you?”

“Just asking was the best way to start,” Bulma said, “I think you owe me an explanation for something.”

Katal stopped waving her arm. She could hear a gulp on the other end of the line before he spoke.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about—”

“I’ll help you out. I’m at South City Hospital.” Silence. “And there is a Saiyan sitting in a stretcher across from me. Care to explain?”

Katal’s eyes narrowed. There was that term again.

On the other end of the line, John was sweating bullets. Mrs. Brief must have heard the report from South City on the news. There must have been details of the fight, and she was sure to work out the implications. He’d worked under Bulma for years at Capsule, and always had a sneaking suspicion that she knew much more about Saiyans than she let on. At board meetings, she would stop a presentation if it got too close to a physical description of a Saiyan. During their research, she often whisked away large portions of their work to undisclosed facilities, never to be seen again. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t risk losing his salary. The pay kept other endeavors funded, and he could deal with sneaking around to find out what he needed. So when he and Lilina found Katal in her pod, he knew immediately what she was. But that didn’t mean Bulma had to.

“Mrs. Brief--” he started.

“Just to let you know,” Bulma interrupted, “You are on speaker, and you will tell the truth.”

John pulled the phone away from his ear and looked helplessly at his wife, sitting across their dining room table. Lilina’s eyes were still puffy from the previous day’s events.

“You owe her that much,” she said.

The man sighed and gathered his wits. Bulma smirked and sat in the seat at the foot of Katal's bed, holding the phone out so she could hear.

“We found Katal when she was just an infant, not a closed adoption as we told her, but in the wreckage of a space pod in the hills near our home. Lilina took an immediate fondness to her, despite her alien nature, having wanted a child for some years. So we took her in.”

Katal shrunk back into her pillow as she listened.

“I used what translations you’d managed to acquire from that—what was it called, a ‘scouter’ I think—to work out what I could about who she was and where she came from from the pod's data banks. We even kept her birth name when we found it.”

Katal pursed her lips. She even had an alien name.

“According to the data that we could salvage, Katal’s parents were part of a reconnaissance effort as younglings after their home planet exploded. The destination was the Proxima Centauri system.”

“Proxima Centauri?” Bulma cut in, “I know that system. My father picked up the comet crash through our scanners. We wanted to make sure no planetary debris would ever make it to earth in the next few years—“

Bulma suddenly realized the implication, shutting up instantly.

“So they’re…dead,” Katal cut in, saying it for her.

“It appears that way,” John said solemnly.

Katal didn’t know why, but she found the news strangely comforting.

“You must understand, Mrs. Brief,” said John, “That our decision not to inform you was a difficult one.”

“To inform her?” Katal blurted out, making both John and Bulma jump. “When were you planning on letting me in on this?”

“You wouldn’t have understood. We, Lilina and I, thought that if you knew…”

He paused, trying to force the words out.

“Knew what?” Katal barked.

“—that you weren’t from this planet, you would try and go looking for your kind, or your parents. We thought that you would start fighting. Start killing. Just like the others,” John continued.

Katal clenched her teeth.

“I know just who to start with.”

John took an audible gulp.

“Okay,” Bulma quickly interjected, “But why didn’t you inform me?”

“Lilina was worried that you’d collect her. I mean no offense, Mrs. Brief, but you can be very mysterious.”

Bulma frowned.

“I’ll want that data,” she said into the phone, glossing over the comment. “I can decode it better than you can.”

“Mrs. Brief," John said carefully, "I know this will be difficult to understand..."

"Spit it out, already."

"I destroyed it,” he said.

Bulma nearly dropped the phone. Katal nearly incinerated the side table by her bed.

"YOU WHAT?!" they shouted together.

“I didn’t know what would happen should anyone find it, so I took care of it as soon as I got all of the information I could.”

That did it.

“Shut it off,” Katal grated. “I’m sick of his voice.”

“Katal—” he began.

“SHUT IT OFF.”

Bulma quickly put him off speaker and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Just let me—” John began.

“She doesn’t want to hear it and neither do I. Good-bye!”

Bulma flipped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket, folding her arms. A silence gripped the room.

Katal grated to herself, clutching at the sheet over her legs. Her tail unwrapped from her waist and entwined back around her thigh. Not only had he kept her origins a secret, he destroyed any chance of her finding out where she'd come from. She had no home, in this world or any other.

Bulma sighed.

“Do you need a place to stay?” she offered.

Katal shook her head.

“I’ll find somewhere,” she said mechanically, “I don’t need help.”

“Nonsense. You’ll come and stay at Capsule with me and my son.”

“Honestly, I don’t need your help.”

Bulma folded her arms.

“You sure? I think he’s someone you’ll want to meet.”

Katal blanched.

“Not like that, silly!” Bulma laughed, “You’ll want to meet him because he’s like you.”

The Saiyan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t follow.”

“It just so happens that my son is half-saiyan.”

Katal's jaw dropped.

“That settles that,” said Bulma, smiling, “I’ll call for a medical jet to transport us to my own infirmary. I’ll brief you on the way.”

—

After picking up Katal's things that John had left in the lobby, Bulma’s team transferred the two to the private medical jet that she had requested. Katal slipped on her obsidian leather gloves, finding that she now had a greater attachment to them. Lilina had given her the gloves as a birthday gift, and since then, Katal had hardly ever taken them off. They fit like—well, as they should, and kept her hands somewhat warm when she trained clandestinely at night; useful and practical, just they way she liked her things to be. Bulma had been pacing near the jet, in what appeared to be a very heated conversation on her phone. She bristled as the blue haired scientist walked towards her, clicking her phone shut.

“So what happened?” Katal asked.

“John decided that it was best to end any further contact between us until you’re ready to apologize,” said Bulma.

Katal snorted. As if she would dream of such a thing.

The two women boarded the jet, with Katal getting strapped in just behind the cockpit and Bulma taking the controls. The heiress waved away her crew, knowing that she wanted to take off with Katal alone.

“Man, I wish Korin would hurry up with those Sensu beans,” the heiress muttered, glancing over Katal's injuries.

“Sensu what?” Katal asked, her neck craning from her bed.

“Oh, they’re little green things that heal any injury in an instant. Pop one in your mouth and you’d feel right as rain.”

Katal cracked a tiny smile.

“Any chance you’ve got one?

“I wish. But they’re not exactly a hot commodity. You’ll probably be healed before Korin could even wrestle one up.”

Katal was too tired to ask who this ‘Korin’ was, so she left it at that. As soon as they left the ground, Bulma got right into her briefing. She did not want to sugarcoat this, knowing that if she did she’d reopen old wounds of mistrust for the young Saiyan. And so, she told of the tragic fate that befell the race and their planet Vegeta from the ruthless tyrant Frieza. The Saiyans were rumored extinct for some time, so the news of reconnaissance had surprised her. Katal's spirits fell, but she silently thanked the heiress for keeping honest. Deception would have only served to irritate her in the long run.

“When did it happen?” Katal murmured.

Bulma thought a moment.

“Before you were born, that’s for sure. Your parents must have just gotten out. With Saiyan interstellar capabilities, it’s amazing that so few of you survived. Frieza was a terrible creature.”

“Worse than the Androids?”

“Not stronger, but definitely more evil.”

Katal could hardly imagine that.

“A very powerful warrior fought him,” said Bulma, “And defeated him.”

“Who was it?” Katal asked, “We could sure use someone like that.”

“He was another Saiyan, like you. Son Goku. He really was remarkable. But he died from a heart virus before the Androids came. If anyone had a shot of defeating those things, it would have been him.”

Katal stared at the ceiling, crestfallen.

“Was Goku your son’s father then?”

A wave of nostalgia hit Bulma at the mention. It had been awhile since her thoughts had wandered to that.

“No,” she said, “My husband’s name was Vegeta. He was named after the planet the Saiyans came from,” Bulma couldn’t help but smirk as she remembered him, “The Prince of all Saiyans, as he liked to call himself.”

“Royalty, huh? So what does that make you?”

Bulma laughed, not having actually pondered that question herself.

“Well, without a race to rule, it just makes me Bulma. Unless you want to be my subject.”

They shared a laugh.

“Will I get to meet him?” Katal asked.

Bulma tensed up, biting hard on her lip.

“I’m afraid you can’t. He died fighting the Androids too. And trust me, he wouldn’t be good company.”

“Oh,” Katal said, “I’m sorry.”

Bulma recounted the deaths of the other Z fighters that horrible day, each one passing at the hands of the Androids. Katal's anger boiled up inside. There were a half-dozen top-tier fighters on this Earth before she showed up, and they all fought and died for nothing.

“We would have used the Dragonballs to revive them—” the scientist began.

Katal almost sat up in bed.

“The Dragonballs are real?” she gasped. She had heard legends and myths about a set of these mysterious orbs, how they granted any wish the user wanted. But she had always assumed that they were just bedtime stories.

“They were,” said Bulma gravely, “But they’ve since vanished.”

Katal grit her teeth. More bad news.

“Any other hybrids out there like your son?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“There was,” Bulma said, her tone darkening, “Goku’s son.”

“He died too?”

“Yeah,” said Bulma wistfully, “His name was Gohan. He was a tough kid, but very compassionate. He literally gave up an arm to save my son once, and taught him everything he knew about fighting.”

“So,” Katal mused, unsure that she wanted the answer, “Am I the last pureblooded Saiyan?”

Bulma sighed.

“I think so, kiddo.”

Katal had to stop and take it all in, staring up at the ceiling of the medical jet. So she was alone.

“But who knows,” Bulma added with a laugh, “You Saiyans keep popping up out of nowhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more.”

Katal smiled at the thought, and decided that she’d heard enough for one day.

—

The jet touched down on Capsule’s front lawn, shaking Trunks from a bleary sleep. He definitely sensed another power level besides his mother’s, and it was well above average. In a few minutes, he heard a stretcher being carted through the doors to the infirmary. He still couldn’t raise his head, but his curiosity was agonizing.

“Mom? You home?” he called hoarsely.

“Yeah. And I’ve brought a guest.”

He turned his head to the right to see a girl with black hair lying flat beneath a sheet rolling into the spot beside him. The girl gave a small nod, which he returned with a curious look on his face. Bulma stood between the two beds, smiling with her arms crossed.

“Trunks, this is Katal. She’s the Saiyan the guys on the radio were talking about.”

Trunks blinked a couple times.

“Really? You don’t look too beat up.”

Katal's brow furrowed.

“Can't say the same for you,” she growled.

“I was just curious,” Trunks defended himself, “You’re not that strong for a full-blooded Saiyan.”

“Excuse me?” Katal’s tail curled much tighter around her waist underneath the sheet.

“Where have you been all this time anyway?” Trunks asked.

“You’re not one for small talk are you?”

“Not really. I don’t think you are either.”

Katal huffed. _Touché._

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” said Bulma, rolling her eyes and walking toward the door, “Be nice, please.”

She shot a glare at Trunks that made a chill run up his spine. The door to the infirmary shut with a thud, and a short silence filled the room. Trunks adjusted his neck and leaned closer to his new companion.

“You never did answer my question,” Trunks said, “How come I’ve never run into you fighting the Androids? Where have you been for so long? ”

Katal grimaced. The ceiling had suddenly become very interesting.

“It’s complicated.”

Trunks took the hint and decided to drop the subject. This was only their first meeting after all.

“Alright then, why did you go and attack the Androids on your own?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I don’t know the answers.”

Katal sighed.

“Fair enough. Probably the same reason you did.”

“But I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t go after them,” said Trunks, “I was training when they found me.”

“Must have been one loud training session.”

Trunks smiled. “You could say that.”

“What were you doing anyway?”

“Well, uh, I was trying to get a handle on staying a Super Saiyan...”

Katal cocked her head.

“What’s that?”

Trunks’ eyes went wide.

“You went to fight the Androids without being able to go Super Saiyan?”

“Maybe I did!” Katal replied, wrinkling her nose.

Trunks snorted.

“If you went Super Saiyan, you’d know, trust me.”

“Try me,” she shot back.

“Did your hair turn gold?”

Katal paused, caught off guard.

“Why—“

“Did it?”

“No…but…”

“Then you didn’t turn into a Super Saiyan.”

“Ooh. Are blondes that much better?” Katal snorted.

“It’s not just changing color,” Trunks said, “It’s a radical increase in power. Think of how strong you are at your max, and multiply it by fifty. It’s wild.”

“You’re full of it! You should have definitely kicked the crap out of those tin cans if what you’re saying is true,” she said.

“Don’t underestimate them,” he murmured.

“I know what they’re capable of,” Katal retorted, “I looked just like you did a few days ago—maybe worse—and when I’m healed, I’m still going after them.”

“I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t think you were that stupid.”

“What, you scared?”

Bulma could hear their quarrel all the way from her lab. She suspected those two could have torn the roof off had she not had worse arguments with Vegeta to test that theory. She buried her face into her arms in frustration. Who was she kidding? Saiyans don’t play well together. By now, she should understand this.

In spite of herself, she brushed aside the blueprints and worktools on her desk to reveal a modestly-framed photograph. The sky was bluer back then, as was the figure’s navy jumpsuit. She smiled, even as a spiky haired Saiyan prince scowled back at her. It was as if his feathery mane ran through her fingers as she fondly traced the edge of the frame. His dark, hardened eyes still pierced into hers, the furrow in his brow still as deep as she remembered it from their long gazes at one another all those years ago. Even though they didn’t last, she always held a much deeper fondness for Vegeta than the others she’d dated. Some of it came from bearing his child, but that was her own choice, not his. If it had been his decision, he probably would have killed the boy as soon as he took his first breath. Nonetheless, Bulma truly loved him. The shouts quieted and got louder every so often, with dulled words making to her ears. She couldn’t help but giggle a little. It was nice to have a good old-fashioned Saiyan argument going on for a change. It brought back just a bit of Vegeta into the house. She jogged briskly to the infirmary.

“At least I managed to get a good shot in!” Katal snapped, just as Bulma entered, “So much for a Super Saiyan.”

“If you had the slightest idea of what you were talking about you wouldn’t be so cocky—” Trunks shot back.

“Says the guy who—“

“Alright enough!” Bulma interjected. “You two are going to work this out, and I don’t care how long it takes. If you want a chance of beating those androids, you’re going to have to work together.”

Katal grumbled and sunk into her pillow. That boy of all people should know how hard it was to face the Androids, and he looked worse than she did. What was his problem anyhow? He’d goaded her on after all.

Trunks averted his gaze and folded his arms. Of course he hadn’t meant to insult the new girl at the start, but she had gotten on his last nerve already. He didn’t understand what set him off so quickly, but he wasn’t about to apologize. Even though he made a few lowbrow quips, she’d taunted him and insulted his strength, without even knowing him. She was so damned defensive. Clearly she was at fault here. Saiyan or not, he didn’t like people calling him a coward. Out of nowhere, a thundering rumble made the room shake, jostling the side tables.

No one spoke, until Katal moaned and patted her stomach.

“Oh man…”

Bulma broke into a devilish smirk.

“You want food? Apologize.”

Katal clutched at her abdomen. It was going on her second day without a proper meal. She needed nourishment, regardless of her pride. Her stomach groaned once more, this time louder.

“Fine! Can we call this a draw?” Katal pleaded.

Trunks would have pushed on, but the shout for his mother had made him woozy.

“For now,” he grumbled.

Katal leaned in expectantly to Bulma, who nodded and took her leave for the kitchen with a renewed spring in her step. For the first time in years, she would be cooking a real Saiyan family meal.

The hour before dinner passed in silence between Katal and Trunks. She was too busy thinking about food, and he had passed out into sleep. They hadn’t exactly started out on cordial terms, but it wasn’t totally unexpected. Katal was feisty, and didn’t always make the best first impression, but her lack of social graces seemed exaggerated with this new half-saiyan acquaintance. He just seemed ripe for insult. It must have had something to do with her injury, or perhaps an adverse effect to the morphine. Katal’s nose twitched as Bulma brought in a cart piled high with steaming sandwiches and rice. She sat up ramrod straight, the pain of her injuries lost to her hunger. Bulma eased Trunks awake and up to a seated position, placing a tray in front of him before tending to the other Saiyan. She laid a placemat onto the girl’s side table, setting out the silverware.

“It’s a little informal, but you’re bedridden after all,”

“Don’t care. Food please,” Katal said rapidly, her eyes fixed on the cart.

Bulma laughed and served out sandwiches and rice onto their plates. Katal dug in with such force that she nearly broke her rice bowl in two. It wasn’t all that delicious, but it was warm and had some flavor. Within seconds, her setting was empty and she held out her tray for more. The scientist giggled and served the Saiyan another helping.  
“You certainly have the appetite of a Saiyan,” she laughed.

Trunks tapped his chopstick impatiently on his tray. He’d finished his first helping the same time Katal had. Bulma smiled and passed on the next helping to her son, only to have to refill for Katal moments later. A full thirty helpings later, both Saiyan descendants had finally eaten their fill. Katal ate the bulk of the cart, but Trunks had stuffed down his fair share. Bulma gaped at the empty trolley. She would never get used to the amount of food Saiyans could intake.

“Man, I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Trunks said through the last bite of food.

“I’m glad you two enjoyed it,” Bulma said, her eyes shifting between the two Saiyans, “Now can we apologize and start over?”

Katal sucked the soy sauce off her pointer finger. She shrugged.

Trunks curled his lip.

“I guess.”

Bulma nodded and turned to hide her sly grin. Maybe these two could team up after all. Katal yawned and let her head sink into her pillow.

"Man, yelling at you is hard work,” she said to Trunks, “I’m beat.”

Trunks frowned and rolled onto his side. The blue haired scientist tucked his sheet in and moved to Katal.

“Trunks snores, so I’m going to set you up in one of the guest suites.”

“Mom!”

“It’s true!”

Katal nodded, her eyelids fluttering shut. She truly was exhausted. Up until now, she’d veiled the real pain behind her injuries, physical and mental. After the first real meal in days, she no longer had the roar of her stomach to distract her. Bulma wheeled her through the hallways and into one of the ground floor’s suites. The stretcher’s gentle sway nearly put the Saiyan to sleep; yet she didn’t relinquish her consciousness just yet. The sway soon stopped, and she reluctantly opened her eyes to survey her surroundings. It was a cozy, warmly lit room, with buttercup yellow walls and a relatively low ceiling. The furniture was an expensive oak, as expected for the rich halls of Capsule Corp, and one long window lined the far wall, looking out onto the grounds. Katal thanked Bulma for the room and listened for the soft thump of the shutting door before rolling onto her side toward the wall. Hopefully tonight she could sleep a little sounder knowing she wasn’t alone.


	3. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All healed up and desperate for a distraction from her homesickness, Katal begins training with Trunks.

In the weeks it took Katal to heal, she spent a lot of time taking in the view from her bed of Capsule’s expansive grounds and gardens. Though the renascent greenery had blossomed with the springtime, the city air still lingered with a general hopelessness. Considering the circumstances, West City had been fortunate. It boasted the largest common wealth, and recovered relatively easily after Android attacks. Many homeless still roamed the streets, and the other refugees had little choice but to head to the many shelters scattered about the city. It was certainly not the shining beacon that it had been during peace-time that Katal had seen in her textbooks at home, with ruins littering the streets. Why bother to clean them up?

Katal had made it a point to see both Bulma and her half-saiyan son as little as possible. She had too much on her mind, and particularly wanted to avoid inevitable questions of her well being, since she was still pretty fresh from the big reveal about her true heritage. Luckily Trunks was out most of the time, returning into the city to help with reconstruction and aiding the survivors, and Bulma largely kept to her lab. Still, she would have to speak to the half-saiyan eventually. The idea of being an alien was still new to her, and it didn’t seem to get any less shocking than when she had first heard it. He was the only one left besides her with Saiyan blood, and that meant that he alone could relate to her. There were still many unanswered questions.

She remembered what John had said about Saiyans, that they fought and killed, obeying their primal instincts. Perhaps that was what the boy had been referring to when he mentioned a Super Saiyan. In the back of her mind she wondered if the mysterious state was why John so fervently forbade her from training, though she took it all with a grain of salt. After all, he didn’t have a great track record at telling the truth. Anger bubbled up inside her. For so long he’d hidden her away, home-schooling her, barely even allowing her out with them to do errands. Few of their friends even knew of her existence, and those that did usually left after one meal, seeing Katal's lack of manners.  
The Saiyan’s heart ached whenever she thought of Lilina. Though she played a significant part in the lies, Katal found no hatred for her. Lilina showed her compassion and love, acceptance that John never did. No, Lilina would have told her had John not put so much effort into keeping her heritage under wraps. She supposed that it was to keep her safe; at least that was what her parents had likely agreed upon. It didn’t matter now. But at some point she would have to go back to her house in the country, if nothing else, to at least say a proper goodbye. The terms that they had ended on in the hospital made her sick to her stomach. She knew that the drama wouldn’t be over until she got up the guts to go back and set it right. That would come another day. Though the option to call was open, Katal knew that she would never take it until she was absolutely sure.

Katal had removed all of her bandages besides the cast on her leg. All that remained of her injuries were light scars, the most prominent being on her left shoulder. She rolled it around in her socket, grateful for her quick healing. If she’d spent one more day wallowing in that bed, she would have gone insane.  Bulma strolled into the guest suite with a scalpel and a trash bag, gesturing to the dirty bandages on Katal's bed and floor. Katal quickly swept them up and into the bag, not wanting to pique the blue-haired woman.

“Today’s the day to get that cast off,” said Bulma, “I’ll bet you’re healed under there.”

She cut the cast with her scalpel, not bothering to ask if Katal was ready. In a few swift motions, Katal's toes wiggled freely in the new open air around them. Bulma gathered the wrappings and tossed them in the bag, swinging it over her shoulder.

“The last pure-blooded Saiyan I had on these grounds was fond of blowing things up half the time,” Bulma said with a small smile, “Do be careful.”

Katal nodded in thanks and walked around the room, letting her toes worm their way into the carpet. She bounced a bit, now confident that she could start on a proper training regimen. She felt good—no, great. A new power coursed through her veins, one that wasn’t there before she fought the Androids. Katal flexed her fingers, the leather of the fighting gloves brushing over her skin.

“You know, whenever Saiyans get injured, they come back stronger,” Bulma said.

“No kidding?”

“Yep. Trunks’ father trained himself to near death just so he could get a power up,” she chuckled, “I never knew what to do with that man. Whenever he set a goal he stuck to it.”

Katal smiled.

“I’d love to get started on a real regimen. I want to find out what this ‘Super Saiyan’ thing is that your son keeps talking about.”

“You should go talk to him. I’m sure he’s got quite a bit to teach you.”

“Pft,” Katal snorted, “I don’t know about that. There are other ways of dealing with these Androids, I’m sure.”

Bulma pursed her lips.

“We’ve tried them, trust me.”

Katal raised an eyebrow, and reluctantly, Bulma told the story of the time machine. At first, Katal nearly laughed herself off of the bed, but she had been wondering what Bulma had been working on all this time. Her jaw dropped when she heard that Trunks went back, defeating Frieza, the same tyrant that had slain her race. A whirlwind of questions escaped her before she could stop them, but Bulma quickly shut them down.

“I am working on a new model,” Bulma admitted, “But don’t get your hopes up.”

Katal shrugged, not really intending to do so anyhow. If anything, it only proved how lost they really were here. She’d almost wished that the scientist hadn’t mentioned it. Bulma shook her head with a smirk and left for her lab, whistling one of her favorite tunes. For the past few years, she’d had little to whistle about. With the Androids’ constant destruction, she’d focused mostly on the relief effort. Today was different. Today, she knew she was close to a breakthrough on her project. The first time machine had failed to change the future, but now, she had solid data and an almost finished prototype to work on again. The tests she’d been running yielded a lot of promise. It was an incredible feat in and of itself to have jumped dimensions before, but failure was not an option for her. She saw the world die every day, with no one strong enough to stop it, at least not in this timeline. Sure, her son had incredible power, and this new Saiyan girl had a fiery strength all her own, but neither of them could come close to the power of her long lost friend, a power she intended to use to help her now.

_Goku,_ she thought wistfully, sitting herself down at her table. _You’re going to make this right. You always do._

The clicking of the machinery and the whirr of her lab’s generator put her into her into her working trance.

—

Now that she could walk unhindered, Katal decided to explore her new residence. She slipped on her only pair of tennis shoes and an old shirt from her duffel and headed down the first of many hallways. Part of the compound had collapsed in. Likely they hadn’t fixed it due to using the funds for Android recovery efforts. Regardless, there were countless rooms and dozens of hallways in the intact part of the Capsule building, most of which didn’t serve a purpose other than to impress. She found that only a few of them were used frequently: Bulma’s lab, the laundry room, the two master suites, and (to her delight) the massive, fully stocked kitchen. She helped herself to a small midday snack of six bowls of cereal, not caring that she finished off the milk after the fourth bowl, and resumed her walk.

The compound soon grew dull, and she was just about to go look for Trunks when a spot of sunlight reflecting off of a new hallway caught her attention. She strode over to find a glass door looking into a beautiful indoor garden. Eagerly, she pushed open the door to be greeted with a rush of warm, humid air. The vast array of exotic plants looked like an idyllic oasis. Sweet smells pervading the air brought back memories of Lilina’s garden at home, each one wafting over the other in a wide plethora of scents. A gargantuan dome covered this miniature nature preserve, letting in the spring sunlight onto the greenery.

The warm air currents soothed her stiff muscles, and Katal found herself sitting down right where she stood, uncaring that she sat on the hard, white tile path cutting through the middle of the oasis. Occasionally the palm fronds from the larger trees rustled as the spring air filtered into the greenhouse from the holes in the glass ceiling. Katal took a deep breath in and sighed, closing her eyes. This place was perfect.

She crossed her legs and straightened her back, resting her leather-gloved hands on her bare thighs. She focused on her breathing and slipped into her subconscious, her tail unwinding from her waist to hang limply at her side. It was black there today, very different from the usual aura of white and billowing clouds that she normally found in her rituals. Splotches of scarlet and navy blue cut into the black, dancing like fireworks across a dark sky. Nothing concrete existed there except the color and form. It was a paradoxical place; free from emotion and turmoil, yet submersed in it at the deepest level possible.

Slow, uneven, thudding footsteps jerked her awake, dimming the show and returning her to the oasis. Begrudgingly, she opened her eyes to find the lavender haired boy walking through the garden toward her. Her tail coiled around her waist again. She wasn’t exactly pleased by the interruption.

“Look, I know we got off to a crummy start. Let’s try this again for real,” he said.

He held out his hand. Katal got to her feet and looked at it for a moment, weighing her options. The meditation had put her in a considerably better mood today than most of the week, even if she’d been rudely shaken out of it. And according to Bulma, he was the only other with Saiyan blood in existence. It would be nice to have someone that she could talk to. Trunks inched his hand forward, and Katal gave it a quick shake.

“Truce.”

The two retreated their hands, and both simultaneously folded their arms. They looked at each other for a moment and broke into a soft, easy laughter.

“We’re more alike than we thought,” Trunks chuckled.

“I suppose.”

There was a brief silence, then Katal spoke again.

“Before we started shouting at each other, you talked about something called a Super Saiyan.”

“Oh, now you’re interested?”

“I want to see it.”

The demisaiyan blinked in surprise.

“Right now?”

“Sure, right now,” Katal replied.

Trunks looked around.

"I would, but I don’t want to blow up the compound. Why don’t we take this somewhere else?”

Katal raised an eyebrow.

“That powerful, huh?”

A sly smile spread across his face.

“Just you wait.”

\--

The two ventured out of the city towards the hills to the North. In flight, Katal found it difficult to keep up with the lavender-haired boy. She had no idea why nearly everything he did irritated her so much. Perhaps it was the cockiness that rivaled her own, or the fact that he was half-Saiyan and had already showed considerably greater stamina and speed than she had. For a long time, she had no knowledge of anyone that exceeded her except for the Androids. He posed a threat, and a challenge to take on.

After she'd showed the wherewithal to face the Androids alone, Trunks thought that he would have gained some respect. Instead, he wanted to push back on her pride, like she’d done to him when she arrived at Capsule. Despite the fact that they were in this fight together, they’d started off as opponents. He was stronger of course, yet he wanted to fight her, even if it was for a sure victory.

They touched down a few feet from one another on a rocky outcropping on the top of one of the hills, and looked down on West City. Most of it was completely leveled, but what few buildings stood on their last limbs glinted in the sunlight, casting light shadows on the ocean. Trunks glanced at Katal from the corner of his eye. A gust caught her hair, casting it over her long neck towards the sea. He noticed her crossing her arms protectively over her chest from the chill, but her face remained stoic, not betraying any discomfort it might have caused. Katal remained oblivious to his gaze, content to take in the view for a bit longer before badgering him about the transformation. It had been years since she’d seen an intact city from a bird’s eye view. She’d been to West City before with her parents, but that was before it had been restored. It was a little chilly, and she had absent-mindedly forgotten a jacket. Better to get this over with.

“Alright, lets see this Super Saiyan thing,” she said, turning to face him.

Trunks nodded.

“You’re going to want to stand back,” he said.

Katal huffed, shifting her arms closer into her body. Trunks rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

He dipped into a stance, planting his feet firmly into the ground.

“You ready?” he said.

Katal nodded, moving just ever so slightly to make sure she was stable.

Power burned behind his periwinkle eyes. His teeth and fists clenched, and a low tremor shook the hillside as he emitted a low growl. A gust of wind whirled around the Saiyans, whipping their hair up toward the sky. Katal's tail tightened around her waist, and she bent down to steady herself. Small rocks levitated off of the ground, shattering into dust in midair. Trunks’ low growl turned into a full-blown yell, and his lavender hair stood on end. A golden aura erupted around him, bleaching his hair and turning his eyes a deep teal. Katal had to shield herself from the gale as it pushed her backward; she could barely stay standing from the sheer energy he was generating.

The gale soon died down around the demisaiyan, and he stood firmly, aura blazing.

“This—is a Super Saiyan.”

Katal's mouth fell open. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. The golden aura surrounding him practically oozed energy, the waves washing over her as his power pulsed. His golden hair blew lightly in the breeze. His muscled arms bulged, and the pectorals beneath his loose, grey shirt appeared distinctly more defined. And those turquoise eyes were so fiery. The Saiyan had to shake herself back into focus and recoil her tail. A smirk curled onto Trunks’ lips for a moment, but quickly turned into a scowl.

“And even this barely makes a dent with the Androids.”

Katal had to comprehend what he was saying. She’d never experienced anything close to what kind of power he was generating. If he couldn’t fend off the Androids, just what had she been up against?

“It’s a miracle you survived,” he said.

The Saiyan would have retorted, had he not been absolutely right. She was clearly outclassed, and she knew it. But she didn’t intend to be for long.

“Teach me,” she said.

Trunks tilted his head.

“What?”

“Come on, I bet I could do it with practice. Together we would pulverize those Androids. I want to become a Super Saiyan.”

Trunks eyed her skeptically, and turned to face the city.

“No, you don’t,” he murmured.

“What do you mean?!” Katal exclaimed, “Your power is crazy! Who wouldn’t want that kind of strength? And since one Super Saiyan can’t beat those monsters, why not have two?”

“You have no idea what I had to go through to get here,” he growled.

“Whatever training you did, I can take it,” she shot back.

“You don’t get it,” he shouted, making Katal jump. He turned to face her, and the look in his eyes made her blood run cold.

“Becoming a Super Saiyan…it takes more than strength. It takes something from you. Something you can’t get back.”

He turned away, his glowing aura simmering down.

“No matter what I tried, I couldn’t ascend to a Super Saiyan. Whenever Gohan—my master—went off to fight the Androids, I was either left behind or beaten into the dust like I was nothing. I tried to use that, but it was no use. I was weak, powerless to stop them. Gohan fought for thirteen years, somehow surviving every time. He was the single greatest warrior I’ve ever met. Even though he knew he couldn’t win, he still went up against those things. He was like a brother to me. And it was only when he died that—”

He paused. Katal noticed the tightness in his voice, and understood.

“—you became a Super Saiyan,” Katal finished.

Trunks bit down hard on his lip. The golden aura around him faded, and his hair returned to its natural purple hue.

“I’m sorry,” Katal said.

The two stayed silent for a long while. Katal couldn’t remember the last time she’d apologized for anything. But this was different. Though she didn’t fully understand the extent of Trunks’ pain, she now understood the nature of this undertaking. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll find another way. Together.”

Trunks turned around.

“You don’t even like me.”

“So? I can take it out on you when we fight,” Katal grinned, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “And you had better not go easy on me because I’m a girl,” she added.  
Trunks returned a soft smile, his mood lightening.

“You sure about that?”

Katal's tail tightened on her waist. It wasn’t so much from fear as excitement. Her body felt hot, boiling even. The pent up Saiyan aggression and angst, one that only a true challenge could sate, clawed at her self-restraint.

“I’ll prove it.”

Empty words, of course. He had trained for years with a master who’d fought on other worlds. And she—well, she had never sparred with a real opponent that wasn't trying to kill her. Frankly, she didn’t particularly want to take the hit to her ego it would take to spar with such a strong one. Not that she’d admit that openly.

“Fine. But I won’t go Super Saiyan,” he said, “It’d be over too quickly.”

In her relief, Katal let the arrogance in his comment slide.

“First one to pin the other down for three seconds wins the spar,” she said, “If I win, you’re going to train me to ascend. No questions asked.”

“What if I win?”

Katal had to think for a moment. She certainly didn’t want to pick something she might regret later, but didn’t want to shortchange Trunks. He’d been more than kind enough to offer not to turn Super Saiyan. It was a thoughtful gesture despite its hubristic nature, and one she didn’t completely expect.

“You choose,” she said carefully, almost immediately regretting the decision as soon as the words left her.

Trunks put a hand on his chin in thought, wondering just what he could get her to agree to do. He knew he would win anyhow, so it had to be something good.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll still train you if I win.”

Katal raised an eyebrow.

“And what’s the catch?”

“You’ll answer every question I ask you. Honestly.”

Katal muttered something crude under her breath. Of course he wanted the one thing she wasn’t keen on giving up. But at least he didn’t ask her to call him ‘Master.’

“Fine,” she ground out.

“Alright then,” he grinned, “Ready?”

Katal's lip curled up.   

“Think fast.”

Trunks was immediately caught off guard by how quickly she managed to reach him. He parried her initial blows, but only barely. Clearly she had been focused on perfecting her speed during her years of surreptitious training, and it showed. That must have been why she hadn’t sustained too many severe injuries after fighting the Androids; she’d likely avoided some of their harder blows. She was exceptionally fast for someone at her power level.

Katal beat on his blocks with nonstop punching. Every hit served to egg her on, and she loved every second. Trunks worked to find his window between the onslaughts of weak, yet perpetual strikes. But at this rate, he’d never get a hit in. With a quick movement, he sprung back and tossed a ki ball to at least disrupt the constant hits. Katal, in her shock at him actually throwing something at her, barely managed to dodge, wheeling to the side as the blast slammed into the ground, spewing debris across the hillside. Katal recovered in kind with a few small ki attacks at Trunks, only to have all of them blocked or miss completely. She growled and rounded back on the demisaiyan, assaulting him with a flurry of lightning fast blows. Trunks eventually saw an opening, and threw a lead jab, narrowly missing Katal before she slid to the side. With all her force, she kneed him under his exposed arm. Trunks stumbled and clutched at his oblique. That wasn’t a strong hit, but it certainly was well placed at one of his pressure points. He grimaced and quickly countered with a crescent kick, nailing Katal in the side and sending her flying like a soccer ball. She landed and rolled a good ten feet before she pushed herself up again. Trunks dropped his guard and made his way to the Saiyan.

“Are you okay?” he asked nervously.

Beneath her thick bangs, she grinned slyly. Lying in wait, she laid still until he got just close enough, and rapidly threw another rabbit punch. Just in time, Trunks caught it in front of his chest. He gasped, but retaliated with a swift front kick to her jaw knocking her backward onto the rocky outcropping. She jumped into a back handspring and landed on her feet, wiping a bit of blood from her scowl. When he hit, he hit hard, and she couldn’t dodge everything. It was clear that her defense was lacking from inexperience, something she intended to remedy as quickly as possible.

“I can’t believe you managed to hit me first,” he called.

“You managed to hit me furthest,” she said with a wry grin. “Lucky shots, both of them.”

“Hardly,” he said, heading into a rush attack. Katal barely blocked his first jab, and completely missed his reverse punch to her solar plexus. She wheezed and in a split second suddenly found his large arms wrapped around her body, pinning her own to her sides.

“Gotcha!” he said.

Katal wasn’t about to lose so quickly. With a grunt, she smashed her skull into his face, causing Trunks to cry out and drop his arms, bringing them up to his now broken nose. Katal kicked free and jumped away, her head pounding from the force of the blow.

“Whathe hell isher head made of?” Trunks spluttered through cupped hands as he tried to stop the gush of red liquid down his face.

“What the hell is your nose made of?” Katal retorted, grasping the back of her head. She quickly reoriented herself, wincing from the throbbing.

Trunks spat out blood onto the dirt and wiped the rest from underneath his nose.

“You hit hard for a girl.”

“Keep that up and I’ll hit harder.”

Trunks charged a ball of ki in his right hand, and threw it full force at his opponent. Katal sprung away, watching his ki fly by and crash into a nearby hillside. Letting her gaze linger turned out to be a poor idea. She felt a fist connect with her cheek, launching her toward the rubble of his blast. Again, two muscular arms wrapped around her, this time underneath her own, crushing her shoulders together.

“I’m gonna start counting.”

Katal roared, thrashing violently. Every hair on her tail seemed to stand on end, sparking with fury.

“One…”

She managed to land a backward kick onto his kneecap, but his grip didn’t give.

“Two…”

“No way!” she screamed, continuing to slam her foot into his knee.

“Three!”

Even after she'd heard it, it took Katal ages to stop kicking. Her legs and tail hung limply below her, but the tracings of a smile appeared for an instant. She’d lost, but she’d fought. Trunks let his grip slacken on the Saiyan. She pushed away, landing one last kick on his shin before tossing his arms off her. The strike hurt, but Trunks didn’t give away his discomfort.

“You put up a good fight,” he said, wiping his nose of the new blood underneath.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, her tail wrapping around her waist again, “Not good enough.”

“On the contrary, you’re pretty far along for never sparring.”

“Really?” she said, more excitedly than she intended.

“Sure. You did manage to break my nose.”

Katal winced.

“I suppose I did.”

She ripped a piece of cloth from the bottom of her baggy, dirt-stained white shirt and threw it to him. Just because she lost didn’t mean she was going to let that bloody mess go untended.

“Thanks,” he said, gingerly dabbing the blood away.

“You’d better have Bulma fix that up,” she said, “If I’m going to have to look at you every day, you’d better look decent.”

Trunks laughed.

“Well if that’s the most important thing…”

“What? I just don’t want to have to look at that disaster on your face.”

Trunks broke into a wide grin beneath the cloth. Something was getting to her, and he intended to find out what it was.

“So my face doesn’t look like a disaster otherwise?”

Katal turned a bright shade of cherry.

“Let’s go,” she said, turning heel to take off, “I’m starving.”


	4. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katal buries herself in her training with her new mentor, eventually growing fond of him.

“Rise and shine.”

  
Katal's tail twitched beneath the covers. When, despite his broken nose, Trunks had insisted that training begin as soon as possible, he really must have meant as soon as possible. She slowly opened an eye, saw that the room was still dark, and rolled over. Even though she was eager to start, she did not appreciate her new sensei waking her up before the sun rose.

  
“I’m not waiting all day,” he said.

  
“It’s not even day yet,” Katal mumbled back, hugging the quilt tighter. Her circadian rhythm was shot after her run-in with the androids. No longer could she rise at the drop of a hat.

  
“Then you can have whatever’s left of Mom’s breakfast,” he sighed, walking out of the doorway, “And trust me, there won’t be much.”

  
Katal staggered out of bed, threw on a pair of athletic shorts and a hoodie, and ran after Trunks, nearly slamming into him in the hall. Bulma had patched his nose with a couple of white bandages, and some bruising had formed on the sides. He looked like hell.

  
“How is it you won when it looks like I kicked your ass?” Katal smirked.

  
“I avoided your face. Common courtesy. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

  
Katal stuck out her tongue.

  
“Exactly," he said.

  
The two Saiyan-blooded teenagers downed the Briefs’ entire stock of eggs, and two boars’ worth of bacon before Bulma entered the kitchen, a capsule in hand.

  
“I’ve got a surprise for you guys.”

  
“Hn?” Katal grumbled, slurping down the last of her eggs.

  
“Yep. If you two are going to train for real, I want you well dressed.”

  
She clicked the plunger on the capsule and threw it down. With a loud poof, two sleeveless navy-blue fighting gi bearing small Capsule emblems appeared on the tile.

  
“They’re made with the same cloth that the army uses. With a few of my own modifications. It's durable, flexible, and should hold up against basic ki attacks,” she said.

  
Katal zipped to the gi like a magnet. For a moment, she hesitated to touch it. When she did, the fabric seemed to spark as she ran it under her fingers. Her tail tightened. A real fighting outfit. Bulma had no idea the honor that she had just given her.

  
“Alright you two,” said Bulma, “Get changed and get going. The day’s not going to stop just for you.”

  
The Saiyans flew silently as the sun peeked over the horizon. It opened up the landscape like a blossoming flower, with new gems and facets appearing within the rays. Tall mountain peaks held their stances as obelisks against the paling sky, dotted sparingly with wisps of cloud. Katal moved about in her new gi, performing small spins and loops when Trunks wasn’t looking; which seemed to be the majority of the time. She was unaware that this route held a bittersweet familiarity to him. As soon as they touched down, Trunks chest tightened. The spot in the mountains was the same one that Gohan used to take him to. Indents and cracks from their old spars had grown over with moss, and the clearing seemed to resonate with the residual energy. He could almost hear their blows echo in the canyon, and see his old master’s silly grin. A few moments passed by in silence, wisps of cool breath hanging in the air.

  
“Are we starting or what?” Katal called.

  
Trunks shook his head and turned to his new pupil.

  
“Alright, lets see your stance.”

  
Katal awkwardly bent into her form, not looking forward to the oncoming critique. Trunks hadn’t gotten a chance to fully examine her resting stance the day before, and now that he saw it, he pursed his lips. The girl slouched like an old man, hardly the facade of a proud warrior. Her bushy black hair stuck out in barbs, impairing her vision; and even a novice could pick out the blaring holes in her defense. Speed must have been the reason she got anywhere at all in her fights. If this was where she was starting, she had miles to go.

  
“First things first, tie your hair back,” Trunks ordered.

  
Katal reluctantly pulled the strand of cloth that tied her gi in place and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Without a word, she returned to form.

  
“Your right foot shouldn’t be first.”

  
“But I’m left handed.”

  
“All the more reason to put your left foot first. Then you have the element of surprise on your side.”

  
“Start with my left?” Katal repeated, her tail tightening, “But that leaves me open.”

  
“You’re already wide open, so will you just trust me? Get ready to block.”

  
Katal opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. Whether she agreed or not, Trunks was the expert here. She had to now accept that she had likely done everything wrong during her childhood and would have never known the difference had he not pointed it out. This kind of realization would likely be the norm, and she couldn’t defend her pride every time. She had to learn one way or the other, and the Androids would not be so forgiving.

  
The girl switched her feet and put up her left arm as a guard. It felt completely off and out of place, but Trunks reassured her that she’d grow used to it in their sessions. She had to bite back insults and groans when Trunks began to strike, breaking through her weakened stance with full on punches. The bruises and cuts piled up, and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. He wouldn’t let her revert back, no matter how many times he cocked her jaw with a rough right hook. As the session went on, Katal grew ever more frustrated. Even at the slow speeds, she could still barely block in her new guard. Trunks landed (or could have landed) almost every hit. She had made the mistake of training only one side, and now her whole defense suffered for it.

  
The sun had reached its apex in the sky, and Katal showed no signs of giving up. Truth be told, her muscles ached from the repeated strikes that she had not yet grown used to, but she refused to show it. As long as her defense lagged, she would focus on it. This was harder than she’d expected, but it didn’t matter. She was having the time of her life. Training, out in the open, with another like her. She would have to lose her tail before she’d willingly stop for an instant. Trunks had to give her credit. She was determined to pick up the new technique, and learned his moves quickly. Every time he landed a blow, she’d buckle down more. He sometimes had to work as hard as she did to get his hits in, figuring that she’d know if he slowed down and would resent him for it. Whenever he asked if she wanted to take a break, she’d practically beg for him to keep going. Only when she dropped to a knee, gasping for breath, did he force her to stop. Besides, he was pretty winded himself after throwing all of those punches.

  
“Here,” he said, handing her a bottle of water, “You need to hydrate.”

  
Katal snatched the bottle, sat down on the grass and gulped it down. Her gi was drenched in sweat, and even her tail glistened with dewdrops of perspiration. She was tired and beaten down, but at least she was fighting. The demisaiyan couldn’t help but smile. Behind her frustration, the girl lived for this. She hadn’t gotten to return one blow and she was smirking like she’d beaten both Androids. He waited for her breathing to steady.  Maybe now was the best time to get her to open up.

  
“So,” he started, “About our wager.”

  
Katal wiped her mouth with the back of her forearm, her face falling and tail curling around her leg. She had hoped he had forgotten.

  
“Just make it quick,” she muttered.

  
Trunks thought for a moment, deciding to start easy.

  
“Where did you used to live?”

  
“Outside of South City.”

  
"Where did you go to school?”

  
“Home-schooled.”

  
“Come on, you’ve got to give me more than that.”

  
“You said I had to answer you truthfully,” Katal returned shortly, “Not that I had to elaborate.”

  
Trunks sighed.

  
“Fair enough. What were your parents like?"

  
Katal grimaced. She wasn’t ready to think about them again just yet.

  
“How is that relevant?”

  
“I’m curious, and you have to answer me.”

  
Katal crossed her arms, and her eyes glassed over. It almost hurt, how tightly her tail coiled around her thigh. Trunks immediately felt guilty for bringing it up. He knew that she had been kicked out because Bulma had told him, and had warned him that just mentioning her parents would cause a reaction. She didn’t trust him enough to open up yet. After what she had been through, he didn’t blame her for not trusting anyone. But trust goes both ways. If he was going to trust her on the battlefield and in his own house, he had to know what kind of emotion and triggers made her tick. If she suddenly snapped, he’d have to be able to calm her down without using force if he wanted to remain allies. Perhaps most importantly, if she were going to ascend to Super Saiyan, he’d have to know how to use her emotions to help her.

  
“Just start from where you’re comfortable.”

  
 _I’m not comfortable starting anywhere,_ Katal thought bitterly. Why did he have to be so stubborn? It wasn’t like John and Lilina meant anything to him, and he clearly knew the subject agitated her. And what would she say about them to someone she’d just met? That John was an overprotective nut that forbid her from doing the thing she loved most? That she’d practically had her insides torn out when Lilina—the one person she cared for most in this world—had rejected her when she finally disobeyed him? Hardly. She took a deep breath of mountain air, and allowed her tail to move back to her waist.

  
“They were like distant relatives,” she said finally, “They provided as much as they needed to, but we were just different.”

  
She glanced down.

  
“Why do you care so much?” she asked.

  
Trunks thought for a moment about his reply. Truthfully, he did care about her wellbeing. How would she take him asking for her trust with the issue hanging so spindly in the air? It didn’t seem right for him to breach the barrier this early in their training together. They had started off roughly, and he didn’t know how much she’d come to respect him yet.

  
“Because we need to depend on each other,” he said carefully.

  
Katal lowered her eyes and remained silent. He was right, of course. She did depend on him, for guidance, for leadership, and maybe even as a friend. She thought about that for a moment. With homeschooling and her parents’ instant aversion to anyone new, she had no opportunity to make a real connection before. Her romantic conquests were short lived, and usually disappointing. And as for friends? She had always been a loner, but this was an unfamiliar place and situation. This was different. Up until this point she’d seen how truth and trust only hurt, and wasn’t ready to accept that they might be the only things that would help her heal. How could she depend on him if she didn’t want to be completely honest? Trunks could guess what her silence meant, and gazed out into the mountains. Suddenly, his stomach gurgled, making Katal smile softly.

  
“I think that’s the signal to eat,” said Trunks, laughing.

  
Katal glanced down, noticing her own impending appetite.  As the Saiyans feasted on Bulma’s meal that she had stored in a picnic capsule, Trunks brooded on a way to open up the Saiyan girl. Clearly talking to her was the wrong approach. Her guard was always up, which made it impossible for him to broach anything beyond smalltalk. If he kept pushing on her, it would only serve to make her retreat. He’d have to come up with a more subtle way.

  
Gohan would know what to do, he thought. Gohan was the one person he depended on most, and had taught him everything he knew about trust. Trunks tried to remember the times in their training that he felt closest to his sensei. It wasn’t ever while they fought, but the times in between when they laughed and shared stories. That wasn’t going to work with reserved, careful Katal. His brow furrowed. Katal took a big bite out of her roast beef, and noticed Trunks’ concentrated expression. She raised an eyebrow.

  
“What are you staring at?”

  
Trunks snapped back into focus.

  
“Huh? Nothing.”

  
“Not nothing. You were staring at me. Why?”

  
“Just spaced out, I suppose.”

  
“Well, close your eyes then,” she said irritably.

  
Trunks suddenly broke into a wide grin.

  
“That’s it!”

  
Trunks untied his gi and stood up. Katal shrunk back, her tail coiling tighter around her midsection.

  
“What are you...”

  
“Stand up for a second.”

  
Katal blinked twice, bemused.

  
“What?”

  
“Just do it.”

  
Katal slowly rose up from the ground.

  
“Now hold still.”

  
Trunks held up the cloth and reached for Katal's face. Before he got close, she hopped backward and put up her old guard.

  
“What the hell are you doing?”

  
“Will you just trust me for a minute?”

  
Reluctantly, she dropped her arms to her sides, and allowed him to tie the fabric over her eyes. A blindfold? She felt his arms leave her, and could hear his boots scuffling over the grass.

  
“Can you see me?” said his voice, coming a bit from her right.

  
“Of course, it’s not like you blindfolded me or anything."

  
Trunks smirked.

  
“But you can hear me.”

  
“I’m not deaf, if that’s what you mean.”

  
“Now, what if you couldn’t hear me, how would you figure out where I was?”

  
Katal scowled.

  
“Feel the air currents? I don’t know.”

  
“So you haven’t learned this technique before...”

  
Katal reached to tear off the blindfold, but a hand grasped her wrist to stop her.

  
“Hang on, I’m going to teach you,” Trunks said with a laugh.

  
The girl’s breath stilled for a moment, and she slowly retreated her arm.

  
“Every living thing has a life force,” he said, repeating the same words Gohan had told him, “The trees, the grass, and every human on earth. They have inside of them the same ki you or I use when we spar. We just have more in us because we’re Saiyans. But anything with this life force can be detected with a kind of sixth sense. You can feel it.”

  
Katal's tail loosened slightly.

  
“So how does it work?” she asked.

  
“It’s easy once you get the hang of it,” he said, “Just let all of your senses detach; focus on nothing. By doing that, you’ll open up that sixth sense and pick up on the energy around you.”

  
The demisaiyan levitated a few inches off the ground, his movements now silent.

  
“Now find me.”

  
He took off, not really sure where he was heading. Knowing Katal, she’d try and use her normal senses first before trying anything new, so he’d have to find a pretty good hiding spot. One way or another, she’d have to try the hard way. That’s how it was when Gohan taught him at eight years old.  When he’d broken down and cried, thinking Gohan had abandoned him in the wild, he thought he’d hate his master forever. Just when he’d lost all hope, he got an inkling of energy tugging at his senses. It was difficult to track at first, but once he’d gotten it, he could find his sensei in minutes. The two had come out with a renewed bond after that, albeit after Trunks had berated him for leaving him there. Lessons like those had helped him to learn to trust Gohan, and know in his heart that no matter how hard the training was on him, it was only for his benefit. It would take time, and he knew he’d get an earful from Katal when she finally figured it out. That didn’t matter. She would learn, and she’d thank him later.

  
For a few moments, Katal stood in the middle of the clearing, her tail now around her thigh. She removed her blindfold and opened one eye, half expecting him to scold her right then and there. But no reprimand came; just the rustling of the wind through the leaves. She grumbled something and pulled a chunk of her bangs behind her ear. Looking or listening for him wouldn’t help. For all she knew, he could be back at Capsule, eating spaghetti from an Italian joint that Bulma ordered from for lunch, or heading for some island on the other side of the planet. Too riled to sit still, Katal stood up and took off over the treetops, tying his own ribbon around her gi. Maybe a flight would clear her head, or she’d miraculously spot his purple hair as she soared across the landscape.

  
As she flew, her anger built up even more. She already felt vulnerable as it was. First, he’d changed her guard from what she’d used for years, and now she could barely parry a strike. Now he left her hanging, alone, with the inklings of a likely advanced technique that “came with practice.” Bitter and frustrated, she landed near a stream that cut through the middle of a field not far from where she’d started. She wasn’t going to let this pass. If she was going to give him a piece of her mind, she’d have to find him first.

  
After situating herself by the stream, she closed her eyes and began her breathing. The meadow faded from her consciousness, and she entered her mental escape. She breathed in the lush air of nature, and it helped to calm her edginess. The sky lightened and darkened with each breath like an ethereal gradation that one would see in the depths of water. It washed away her insecurity, and plunged her into thought. Trunks’ power had practically oozed off him when he turned into a Super Saiyan. It had a quality to it that set it apart from any other lifeforms. It wasn’t just the amount; the way the sparks crackled around him was neither mechanical nor biological. It was something else beneath the surface. The oasis suddenly felt warm, and a thousand little lights lit up the atmosphere like the stars that were once missing. But they were brighter, closer, as if she could touch them. The energy! Her eyes fluttered open, and the meadow glowed into focus. Trunks hadn’t lied and left her for nothing. She could feel it all. The trees encroached on her with their small but warming power; and she welcomed them. The warmth and clarity faded slightly as time passed, eventually burning down to a tiny afterglow. She took a deep breath, and noticed a standout signal to the east. It had to be him.

With a little grin to herself, she made a mental note to punch him when she got there. Though when she did finally touch down in front of her master, she had somehow forgotten all about it.

  
—

  
It took Katal a full four weeks to become used to her new stance, but in the end, she was glad that Trunks had made her change. She now felt more even and grounded than she had before, and more confident now that she could finally parry him. In the meantime, she’d picked up some nifty tricks along the way. With inferior strength and stamina, Katal had to force herself to think her way through the obstacle. She’d always excelled at strategy and mental intuition, but this was the first time she’d put them into this kind of practice. With her newfound ability to sense ki, she could judge his attacks more easily and compensate. Instead of looking and analyzing Trunks’ hits one at a time, she mapped their trajectories and memorized the patterns. In time, she could gauge where to block before he started to swing, and that increased her agility. It became her tool to improve her speed and strength; and soon enough, she was able to block the blows the old fashioned way: instinct. Trunks no longer had to slow down for her to block, and actually had to make effort to dodge when she went on the offensive. Although her power hadn’t grown that perceptibly, her expedience had made her a force to be reckoned with in their spars.

  
What he had noticed a particular absence of, though, was her use of ki. He hadn’t specifically requested her to not use her energy, and yet she refrained. When she did use it, she caught him largely off guard with her accuracy and quickness. Clearly she was well practiced from before they began. Maybe she thought she didn’t have enough brunt to go behind the blasts to make them effective? Or she hid it out of habit more than choice. Trunks still knew little about Katal's home life before she came to Capsule; but from what he’d worked out, he knew it wasn’t one of openness. She often shifted topics whenever she divulged anything about her solo training, as if she were programmed to not talk about it. They hardly talked about anything outside of their sessions, whether it was because she wanted to avoid the taboo “parent” topic, or she simply didn’t feel comfortable saying anything beyond what was necessary. He wasn’t sure how much of it was Saiyan and how much of it came from her upbringing. And, truth be told, Katal wasn’t sure either. Keeping her emotions and issues bottled up was something she only did with her parents. And now she found herself doing it more than ever.

  
When the Whites walked out of the door, she’d had no plans to speak to anyone or ask for any favors. It had been almost two months, and she still refused to call them. Attachment brought pain, and she didn’t feel like she needed anything closer than the master/pupil connection that Trunks’ instruction gave her. Yet she felt herself grow closer to the Briefs every day. At dinners, Bulma asked her to help with the dishes. She sometimes helped run errands for the lab, and even tended to the garden with the bots on the weekends. Katal gladly accepted that they treated her as an equal, rather than a guest. It made her feel helpful and needed. It also helped pass the time between training sessions; something Katal was more grateful for than she cared to admit.  Yes, the Briefs were becoming something more than hosts, and Katal sometimes didn’t quite know what to do. She instinctively found herself keeping things from them—understating her injuries, not letting them know when she wandered around the compound on her own, changing her training stories ever so slightly when she spoke to Bulma. She didn’t want burden them with her own troubles, not out of politeness, but because she had actually grown to care for them.

  
As they trained into the summer months, Katal almost incessantly asked Trunks to practice attempted ascensions to Super Saiyan. He’d repeatedly told her no, claiming that her power level wasn’t where it needed to be to even start the process. But deep down, he knew he was lying. In truth, Katal’s power was much higher now than his was when he made the jump. He had only managed to succeed due to the depth of the emotion he had experienced when he lost Gohan. She could likely make it if she found the motivation, but he didn’t want to let her have a go at it just yet. Once she transformed, there was no going back.

  
One warm June day, after a particularly grueling sparring session (which she lost, as usual) Katal noticed that she had forgotten the picnic capsule Bulma had left. To find food, the Saiyans wandered through the mountain wood to a place not too far from where they were training. Katal first saw a waterfall running down the cliff face, and as they got closer, she saw a deep, mirror-like pool glistening in the sunlight. A wide smile broke across her face. Now this was her natural habitat. Before Trunks could open his mouth, she dove—clothes and all—into the clear, blue water. As soon as the liquid immersed her, every inch of her body loosened and relaxed, her tail floating listlessly in suspension. She had a natural draw to the ethereal feel she had while underwater, and glided downward into the seemingly bottomless cave as if she could stay there forever.

  
Trunks let out a warm laugh. He pulled the top half of his gi over his head, and jumped in after her. To his amazement, he could barely keep up. She swam as if she were flying, using her ki to float her along instead of her muscles. Her hair blossomed out at the ends like a cloak over her frame, becoming soft and fluid as the water coursed through it. Katal hardly noticed the half-Saiyan’s presence floating behind her until he lightly brushed her leg with his arm. She glanced back and saw him there, the light filtering down from above to dance off of his skin. For a moment, her chest felt odd. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d never swum with anyone else, but it felt strangely invasive for him to be there. It was like letting him into her meditative space, something she didn’t even do with Lilina. He was still foreign and new. She brushed it off and kicked away, taking to chasing fish to keep her mind at ease. It was a full ten minutes before they resurfaced, each with a large cod in hand.

  
They waded back to the bank. Katal picked up a cod, charged a blue ki blade in her hand, and sliced through the fish like butter. In less than a minute, both fish were fully skinned and gutted. Trunks tilted his head.

  
“Where did you learn to do that?”

  
“Prep fish?” Katal asked, as if it were obivious, then she remembered Trunks grew up in the city. “It’s one of the things I picked up while training on my own. Can’t you make a blade?”

  
“Well yeah, but I haven’t really needed to. I’ve actually got a sword back at home.”

  
“A sword,” Katal snorted, “Who are you, some prince charming?”

  
“Nah, I don’t exactly go around trying to rescue a damsel in distress, do I?” he said, periwinkle eyes flashing as he charred a chunk of meat with his ki.

  
“Don’t get any ideas.”

  
“You’ve gotten yourself into distress before.”

  
“Well that’s not gonna happen again,” Katal retorted, ripping a piece of fish with her teeth, “Just watch. I’ll become a Super Saiyan one day and have to save your ass.”

  
“You’ll have to be able to beat me first,” Trunks replied, smirking.

  
The Saiyans happily gorged on the fresh cod by the pool, sending remarks back and forth as they let their aching limbs fan out into the grass. Katal watched as clouds passed overhead, bringing back fond memories of solo excursions in the summers. She’d sometimes leave home for days, living off the fertile pastures and nabbing carrots from the farms nearby. She hated coming back home afterward; those were the only times she’d seen her mother angry. It was only because Lilina cared for her, but the sting didn’t fade any less. Each trip was worth it though, to get away from John for a few precious sunsets. She’d train for a while, then lay back and watch the clouds fly above the farmland. Under them, she could forget about the Androids, about the pain and heartbreak of her shattered world. Their fluffy outlines filled her up. Everything was better when she watched the clouds.

  
A low grumble started coming from her right, and when looked over, she saw that Trunks had fallen asleep. She smiled at how his lavender brow crinkled in the middle, how the edges of his nose flared, and the corners of his mouth turned down, as if he were dreaming about fighting. It was a fair bet that she looked similar when she slept. Come to think of it… she was pretty sleepy too.

  
—

  
Screaming, crying, burning—as far as the man could see. All he could do was run as fast as his stubby legs could carry him, but inside he knew it was no use. They would claim him soon, no matter how far he got. His pinstripe shirt was soaked through with sweat, dirt and blood, and he was suffocating from the smoke. If only he had gotten in shape like his wife had wanted him to. As he fled, he dared to look back at two figures; the boy with jet-black hair perched nonchalantly on a decimated car, the other standing with her hands on her hips, her hand outstretched. They had since removed their Red Ribbon insignias, the mark of their creator. The girl wore a matching denim skirt and vest over a striped shirt, with tight black leggings and a pair of cowboy boots. The boy wore an unblemished black tee over a white long-sleeve, a pair of light-washed jeans, and tennis shoes. One glance, and he’d have thought they were just kids.

  
A sharp pain cut through the man’s chest, and he was gone. Android Eighteen retreated her hand and brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

  
“Ugh, now we’re tied,” said Seventeen, “We can’t end on a tie.”

  
“Then what do you propose we do? We’ve already gotten all of the buildings,” Eighteen replied in a dull monotone.

  
Seventeen grimaced, or at least arranged his face to look like one. It was always the same in these cities: cars, buildings, and pathetic humans. His icy blue eyes flashed, and he examined the hunk of scrap metal beneath him.

  
“Honestly Seventeen, let’s just go,” said Eighteen. “These games always end up the same.”

  
“You’re just a spoil sport, that’s all.”

  
“No, I’m being practical,” she replied, “It’s pointless to keep this up.”

  
“What, you don’t like target practice?”

  
“I’d hardly call it that. They’re so slow.”

  
“Yeah, but there’s nothing else on this mud ball worth doing.”

  
Eighteen rolled her eyes and folded her arms.

  
“Not since we killed that Saiyan girl.”

  
“Please,” Seventeen said with something akin to a smirk on his face, “She was even weaker than that kid with the sword.”

  
“At least they were mildly entertaining. Sometimes I’m actually glad that those Saiyans keep coming back. It keeps things interesting.”

  
“Well they’re dead. So you can stop moaning.”

  
“That’s what you said last time,” the blonde muttered.

  
Seventeen flared his energy.

  
“Come on,” he said with a smile, “It’s been awhile since we’ve hit a Capital.”

  
He rocketed into the air. Eighteen followed closely behind him, her eternal scowl deepening.

  
—

  
Bulma snapped her fingers excitedly, though one could barely hear it over the roar of the machine grinding its gears in the middle of her lab. It clicked and groaned as the generator powered up, causing papers and tool bits to scatter wildly around the room. The capsule heiress practically ran to her computer and checked the readings. The machine flicked in and out of materialization, shaking the whole compound with its energy. Then suddenly, she heard a metallic screech, and the hunk of metal grumbled to a halt, unmoved in the center of the room. The readings returned to normal, and steam billowed out of the control board on the hull. Bulma sighed in frustration and put her hands on her hips. Just because the first time machine had failed to change to future did not mean she’d give up so easily. Inter-dimensional travel was the world’s most inexact science. If she could jump between universes, unilateral jumps in time shouldn’t have been too difficult.

  
“Choppy start, but not bad,” she grumbled, “I guess it’s time for a break.”

  
The blue-haired woman made her way to the kitchen, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She glanced out of the window as she waited for the water to heat. The sun had almost set, and there was no sign of Katal and Trunks.

  
 _Saiyans,_ she thought.

  
She laughed a little and put a hand on her chin. Vegeta could go train for days without resting, if he saw the need. Sometimes she’d walk into the yard and find him lying there, bruised and unconscious. She knew that Trunks was considerably more laid back, and she figured they would have come back for lunch if they were going to go all day. But they hadn’t shown since dawn, and if they were still training—they would most certainly notice the sunset. The heiress shifted uncomfortably. It couldn’t hurt to check with Korin again.

 


	5. Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Androids attack West City! Both Saiyans nearly die in the conflict, and it takes more than Sensu beans to restore the damage.

Trunks awoke to a light breeze and something furry enveloping his wrist. He glanced down, bleary-eyed, to see Katal's tail curled tight around his arm, and a purr coming from her chest. He chuckled lightly. The tough Saiyan girl with a stone facade curled up like a docile puppy against him. She’d never allowed anyone to even touch her tail, even when it got injured when they fought. He knew that it was a weak point, but apparently that was common in Saiyans (according to Bulma). She had gotten better at blocking out pain from it, using it during the day to pick up objects, or to stabilize herself when they sparred in the air. Perhaps it was just an instinctual reaction for it to rope around things as she slept, for comfort, habit or the like. Yet, he couldn’t be sure. Something happened in that pool when she looked at him with completely open eyes for the first time.

Speaking of open eyes, why was it so dark out? Trunks sat bolt upright and smacked his forehead. How could he have been so careless? They’d never been out past sunset, for a good reason.

Katal felt movement on her tail, and her eyes flickered open. She looked over at her sensei, or at least his outline, and saw that it had coiled around his forearm. With a tight breath, she snapped it back like a rubber band, and entwined it back around her midsection.

“We have to go,” Trunks commanded.

Katal rubbed her cheek, feeling the indents from the grass on her skin.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Katal didn’t like the palpable tension in his voice, but she didn’t want to push it. They flared their energy and took off back home, skimming the forest canopy. Usually, Katal could keep up with Trunks without a problem, but she was maxing out just to stay by his side. They soon reached the outskirts of West City. The lights from the ruined cityscape created a dim veil across the sky. Katal glanced at her sensei and bit her lip. Trunks’ mouth had curled into a grimace that she had only seen once before: when he spoke about Gohan on the bluff before their first spar. Katal turned toward Capsule.

“What’s your deal?”

“I don’t like being out in the dark.”

“Jeez, is that it? Scared of the monsters? Come on, what could possibly—“

A thunderous explosion cracked the air. The Saiyans’ necks snapped to the far mountains on the opposite side of the city. Rocks spewed into the sky, some of them crashing into the buildings nearby; and a mushroom cloud, lit underneath by ominous electrical flames, billowed up between two of the peaks. Trunks’ heart leapt into his throat. That was the backup power plant. They had only just rebuilt it! Block by agonizing block, the paltry excuse for what once lit up the metropolis snuffed out in a heartbeat.

"Katal, get home and get my mother out of there,” Trunks ordered.

Before she could protest, the half-Saiyan flared his ki and burst into Super Saiyan, taking off like a bullet toward the explosion. Katal lingered in the air. The Androids were far too powerful for her not to sense them if they were that close. Right? Suddenly, doubt crept into her mind, and she too felt dread. She remembered how the Androids felt when she fought them. When Trunks powered up, she felt the warmth before she knew how. They gave off nothing but coldness. Of course; they had no life force! That’s why the cover of darkness put them at a disadvantage. If they couldn’t sense out their opponents, they could catch both of them off guard. And he was going in alone? 

Katal scanned for Bulma’s energy, but couldn’t pick it up. Her stomach did a somersault. Dead, or gone. If that was the case, then there was only one choice.

“Trunks, you’re gonna have to trust me for a change.”

Her aura flared a sky blue, and she rocketed towards the hills. A sinking feeling stewed in her gut. Since she had so many defensive faults, she had hardly focused on increasing her strength. Aside from the boost she’d gained from her run-in the Androids a month and a half ago, she’d only had modest gains in the power department. Fighting wouldn’t help much, but Trunks needed the extra help to see them if nothing else. She saw the golden streak stop its trajectory.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” she heard him shout, “GO BACK. NOW!”

“No! You need my help and you know it.”

“My mother needs it more!”

“Bulma is fine,” Katal said, and it was only half a lie, “You, on the other hand,” she pointed straight at his nose, almost touching the bridge, “Won’t last a second in the dark. You need my eyes too, idiot.”

A cool voice made both Saiyans freeze.

“Oh look, they’re together. This’ll be more fun than I thought.”

Trunks whirled around, and saw Android Seventeen floating nonchalantly in the air. His orange bandana looked like fire, lit and highlighted by Trunks’ Super Saiyan aura. The ice blue in his eyes glittered with malice, and an almost painful smirk had spread itself across his perfect face. Katal felt a chill run up her spine and tail, and turned to see Eighteen, the blonde in her hair glowing like spider thread in Katal's blue aura. The Saiyans oriented themselves back to back, Trunks’ heart beating hard in his chest and Katal practically trembling with fury.

“Some eyes you’ve got,” Trunks muttered to his pupil.

“Shut up,” Katal spat, her knuckles white from how tightly her fists had clenched.

“Still the same bark. And with no bite to back it up.” Eighteen said with a cruel smile.

Katal launched forward before she could stop herself, and took a swing at the blonde machine, missing by less than an inch. Trunks immediately sprung into action and took on Seventeen with a blast of white-hot ki. The pairs dematerialized, and the fight was on. Katal had taken to speed over strength, and was barraging Eighteen with a series of lightning fast, well-placed punches. Unfortunately, Eighteen parried them with ease, looking bored at Katal's exertion. This only served to irritate the full-blooded Saiyan, and it made her hit the palms of the Android that much harder. Trunks wasn’t faring too well with Seventeen as he rained down blast after blast, which Seventeen swatted away like flimsy soccer balls. As if on cue, both machines attacked together, each burying a punch into their respective opponent’s stomachs. Katal felt like a meteor had just broken through her gut, voiding her of every last oxygen molecule in her lungs. Eighteen grabbed her by the ankle and catapulted her into a darkened street, carving a neat, knifelike crevice into the city below. The demisaiyan took the hit slightly better, somehow managing to stay in the air as Seventeen delivered a firm roundhouse into his jaw.

“What tripe,” Eighteen grumbled.

“Better than gunning down those pathetic snails,” Seventeen said, gesturing to the screaming clumps of people below.

Katal burst out of the ground, heading towards the blonde Android. They were making fools out of her like they did last time, and she wasn’t about to shrink back now. Eighteen looked genuinely surprised as she barely stopped the Saiyan’s fist from colliding with her face, carrying backward from the force of the impact. A thin line of blood trailed down Katal's forehead, pooling in the deep wrinkle of her furrowed brow as she struck blow after blow onto the Android’s steel-reinforced forearms.

“The monkey’s got a temper,” said the android, “How quaint.”

Katal pushed the machine back with one firm kick, and straightened her hand out like a board. Sparks flew, and a sword-like beam of ki shot out of the tips of her fingers.

“I’ll show you quaint!” she cried, “INCISOR!”

She brought down her arm like a whip, launching the blade towards Eighteen with all her might. Her signature move could slice through absolutely anything; that was, if it could catch whatever it was slicing.

Eighteen’s eyes went wide, and she dropped out of sight, just in time for the ki to cut through a few strands of her hair. The features on the Saiyan’s face contorted as Eighteen lodged a knee between her scapulae, icy eyes burning with wrath.

“Hey! That doesn’t grow back, kid!”

Trunks had taken to bludgeoning the stronger Seventeen, doing all he could to push him further away from the city. The Android’s stray ki blasts had already taken out buildings and cars along the streets; damage that he could have prevented.

“What have you been doing all this time?” Seventeen taunted, blocking the demisaiyan’s blows with seemingly little effort. “You certainly haven’t gotten much better.”

With a flourish, he kicked under Trunks’ chin, sending the boy barreling backward. Trunks recovered, and unleashed another strong blast of ki right into the face of the black-haired machine. His power was fading fast, and he needed to make the most of it. Seventeen disappeared in the puff of smoke, and for a fleeting moment, Trunks thought he’d done it. He grit his teeth however, when the Android emerged, ruffled but not injured, from the haze.

“Perhaps I misjudged,” Seventeen said, “You actually managed to rip my shirt this time.”

Seventeen smirked and flew high into the air.

“Here’s a gift for your efforts!”

A gigantic ball of energy formed in the Android’s outstretched palms, sparking with dark thunder all around it. Trunks’ jaw slackened, and he felt genuine terror for the first time in the fight.

Meanwhile, Katal was taking the beating of her life from an aggravated Eighteen. She could do nothing but try to avoid punch after kick after blast, all of which either hit or barely missed her. The world faded and reappeared as she went in and out of consciousness, usually brought back from the force of another punch to her face or solar plexus. In the fray, she could just make out Seventeen and the ball of energy, enough to easily decimate half the planet, and it was aimed right at Trunks. She knew that they wouldn’t last much longer now, trapped in a whirlwind of pain by another foolhardy attempt to defeat the Androids. Eighteen growled and suddenly stopped her barrage as Katal held on desperately to her position in the air.

“Seventeen, are you out of your mind?”

Seventeen paid her no attention, and hurled the energy down. Eighteen cursed and bolted away from the blast. Katal could barely see, breathe, or feel, but if she was going to die now, it would be fighting. In one last push, she flew up next to Trunks and put her hands toward the blast. Trunks had no time to stop her, so he too brought his hands up to stop the oncoming hoard of ki. They took the energy together, stopping its path from obliterating the city. The flesh slowly singed off of Trunks’ hands causing him to to cry out in pain. Katal had the fortune of Lilina’s fingerless leather gloves, now ripping away to shreds, to somewhat soften the agonizing heat. Nonetheless, she wailed in a battle cry, her tail lashing out behind her. The Saiyans exchanged a tacit goodbye, and prepared for the end.  
But suddenly, they noticed that the maelstrom of energy had stopped moving forward. Katal opened an eye, and saw her sensei still beside her, straining just as she was.

“What?” Seventeen gasped, “That’s not possible. They should be incinerated!”

Trunks opened his eyes, and the Saiyans exchanged a quick nod. With one last heave, they burst the ball back towards its source. Seventeen snarled and flung his body to the side as his own blast rocketed to the heavens. It drifted further and further away, until it was out of sight. Katal let out a soft laugh. In all likelihood, the effort was in vain. Seventeen would just conjure another, greater in size and strength to the first, and kill them all. But she had exhausted every scrap of energy. Her will was strong, but they were stronger. It was time to accept that she’d tried, and though not succeeded in the end, went out with a bang. Katal's eyes flickered shut, and she fell, unconscious, toward the ground. Trunks’ arms trembled as he brought them to his sides, his hands dripping with blood and pus from the burns. As he saw his pupil fall, through his fatigue, a shard of pain pierced his heart. He let out a cry, but instead of summoning power, his world faded to black. The lavender-haired boy landed with a thud next to Katal. They lay together on the abandoned concrete, a cool wind blowing through the night.

After making short work of the rest of West City, Seventeen and Eighteen soon touched down, looking over their fallen opponents with a mixture of disgust and delight. Buildings and cars lay in ruin around the Saiyans, with debris and corpses scattered around their unmoving forms. Katal was face up, with a discernible smile etched onto her thin lips and a trickle blood running down her face. Trunks was facing her on his side, his lavender hair coated with sweat and dirt.

“They’re done,” said Seventeen.

“They certainly should be,” Eighteen replied, annoyed, “You’re lucky I was careful.”

“Come on, you could have easily blocked it." He cracked his neck.

“The rest of the humans have hidden or left,” said Eighteen, her eyes darting around the quiet street, “And I don’t feel like finding them now.”

“Then what’s next?”

Eighteen glanced down at Katal, who lay in a heap on top of a few stray magazines. Absently, the Android kicked her aside to pick one up, leafing through the pages.

“I like this skirt,” she pointed out.

“Ugh. You can never have enough clothes, can you?”

The blonde eased into the air, the paper in her hands ruffling in the current.

“I may be an Android, but I’m still a woman.”

“Whatever,” said Seventeen, rolling his eyes and taking up after her.

Their voices drifted off into the distance, leaving the barren city silent.

  
—

  
To her surprise, Katal awoke in the same place she’d fallen. There was no pain when she sat up, but she gasped at the sight around her. Corpses. So many corpses. Smoke. Ruin. Bulma. Wait—Bulma?

“Hey, you’re awake,” said the blue haired heiress, patting Katal on the shoulder.

“But how? What about the—“

“They’ve left.”

Katal whirled around to see Trunks, standing tall with his hands crossed over his chest. His face was damp, but she had the feeling that it wasn’t sweat.

“You’re both okay, thanks to Korin,” said Bulma, holding up a tiny brown cloth sack in her hand.  
Korin. The name sounded familiar. Katal looked down, and (save the tattered Capsule gi) saw that her body had barely a trace of the fight she’d been through.

“What—?”

“When you didn’t come back at sunset, I decided to go to Korin’s at the Lookout just to be safe,” Bulma explained. “Thank goodness he finally had some Sensu beans.”

At this point, Katal just had to accept the new information as it came. The Saiyan rose to her feet, and gingerly picked out a bit of debris in her tail. Her eyes, after scanning the embattled area, soon found Trunks’ fiery gaze. Her stomach lurched.

“We should get out of here,” said Bulma, her eyes growing glossy at the sight of the listless people littering the boulevard.

She walked to her jet and jumped into the cockpit. Trunks and Katal shuffled silently into the jet, and the engines kicked into life. As they flew, they saw that the ruined city was a harrowing scene, especially in the dark. Almost every building had been sliced, demolished, or hollowed out from an explosion. Hundreds of workers beneath emergency lights picked up bodies and put out fires, the smoke from which billowed up into an inky sky. Bulma shed a few tears, while Trunks’ face remained stony as the images flashed by like advertisements. Katal hid her own perturbed expression behind her brambles of hair, and shrunk toward the window of the jet. The Capsule building didn’t look too bad when they arrived, with only a few holes in the upper floors. The outer wall had been largely razed, with brick scattering the once beautiful lawn.

“Alright!” Bulma exclaimed. “They didn’t completely level the place. The time machine might still be intact.”

She slowly lowered the aircraft onto the grounds, turned off the engine and rushed straight for her lab. Trunks exited the jet wordlessly, without so much as a sideways glance to Katal. Katal hopped out after him, and reached to tap his shoulder.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he muttered, not bothering to turn around.

Katal retreated her hand.

“I did the right thing.”

“What, by chasing after me and leaving my mother behind? She could have died!”

“She wasn’t even in the city—which, by the way, would be a crater had I not helped you,” Katal shot back, “Whether you’d like to admit it or not, you needed me.”

“I could have handled that blast on my own.”

“Yeah? I would have loved to see you try!"

Trunks tightened his fists as he practically shook with rage.

“She's all I've got left!” he cried, his face inches from Katal's nose, “You put her life in potential danger by being a complete and utter fool.”

“If she’s so important, why didn’t you even bother to check where she was?” Katal burst out, her tail lashing violently behind her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“And you call me foolish,” Katal said, “I didn’t sense your mother’s ki when you told me to come back here, so I knew she had to be already dead or somewhere else. But if you think leaving you out there was the right thing to do, fine."

Katal swiped his hand away, and stomped inside, cursing. How stupid did he think she was? If she had sensed Bulma nearby, why wouldn’t she get her away from the city? Trunks could defend himself, Bulma could not, and she cared for Bulma just as much. But even if the scientist had been in the compound, Trunks was the only one strong enough aside from herself that could last ten seconds against those machines. She was weighing long term consequences. Was that so horrible?

She slammed the door to her small bedroom, leaving small cracks in the paint around the frame. The battle was still fresh in her mind. Eighteen’s nonchalant batting away of her blows. Their insipid killings after the fact. Katal clenched her fingers together but felt an odd rubbing of skin on skin. She turned her palms up to examine them, and a small gasp escaped her lips. Lilina’s leather gloves held to her fingers only by the smallest of strands, gaping holes blaring in the palms. She tore them off and threw them into her bedside drawer, unable to look at them. Katal buried her head into the goose down pillow. Sleep overcame her quickly.

The Capsule heiress, on the other hand, could not find sleep. She was still fresh from seeing her son lying broken and bloody in the middle of a dozen corpses, and her stomach hadn’t quite settled yet. She was, however, slightly pleased upon finding the hull of her second time machine prototype intact. The insides had gone a tad awry with the tremors and radiation from the Androids, but it was nothing she couldn’t fix with time. In both cases, it could have been much worse. The clocks read two in the morning when she strolled into the kitchen for a late night meal, only to find her son in his mangled gi, staring at her. She put her hands on her hips.

“I almost lost you today,” she said, “And you’re looking at me like that?”

“I could say the same thing.”

Bulma scowled.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I went straight to the Lookout when you didn’t come home. We’d both be dead.”

“That kind of coincidence won’t happen twice.”

“I’m aware, Trunks,” Bulma said icily, pulling a tub of fruit from the refrigerator.

There was an uncomfortable pause as Trunks shifted in his seat.

“Now look here, young man,” she pointed a finger at Trunks like a knife. “You need to focus only on staying alive and training to destroy those Androids. I can take care of myself.”

“I suppose Katal thought that too. She flew right after me even after I told her to get you.”

“Thank Kami she did.”

“How can you take her side?” Trunks shouted, cracking a tile as he banged his fist on the kitchen counter.

“How?!” Bulma cried, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself had you died in my place. You and Katal are the only ones on this planet with the strength or potential to put the Androids down for good. You know how little of a chance there is that the time machine will work a second time. Even if it does, my life is of no consequence in comparison to yours. Get that through your head.”

The heiress would never come to regret those words, but the look on her son’s face did bring pain into her heart. Smaller traces of anger and confusion crossed his expression while a deafening sadness brought the whole of it together. Trunks watched with a heavy heart as Bulma stormed out, the open refrigerator door breathing more cold into the already frigid room.


	6. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training grinds to a standstill as master and pupil lose trust in one another. Katal finds solace in an old pastime.

Katal sat up underneath the goose down quilt of her bed. Waking up that morning, the last thing she had expected to see was a particular lavender-haired nuisance standing in her doorway. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, and illuminating up to his chest. He still wore his torn gi from the fight, and looked as if he hadn’t removed his boots since. In the shadows, she could still make out the circles under his eyes. Had he slept?

“I’ve been thinking about last night, ” he said, “After the Androids.”

Katal rubbed the grit from her eyes, her tail roping around her waist.

“And,” he continued, “I might have reacted harshly.”

The girl bit back a retort.

“You did only try to do the right thing. Mom wasn’t hurt anyhow, so I can’t really hold it against you.”

Katal let her legs slide underneath the covers to the floor so she could stand and face him.

“Fine.”

Trunks shrugged in agreement, and took it as an acceptance. The Saiyans ate their breakfast in silence, some of it due to their ravenous hunger from yesterday, some due to the electric dissonance grinding between them. As Katal wolfed down her last helping of waffles, she saw Trunks disappear into another room. When he returned, he had thrown an enormous broadsword over his back. Katal nearly choked on her breakfast from laughter. Trunks made his way to the door.

“I figured that we’d work on offense today.”

They both noticed a new charge in the air as they headed to their training grounds. Trunks’ power had grown substantially, and Katal's had at least doubled since their fight with the Androids. They felt the new energy run through their veins like fire, letting it guide their bodies through the air.

“I want to try,” she said.

Trunks looked perplexedly at his pupil.

“What?”

“I have to be close now, after this fight. I have to try ascending.”

Trunks opened his mouth to quash her request as usual, then shut it again. She’d likely try on her own, no matter what his wishes were. After all, she was no stranger to disobedience. The untamable wrath behind the Super Saiyan state was too risky to be left unmanaged. Better to let her and supervise the situation than to clean up the imminent mess afterward.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Let’s land down here.”

Katal smiled.

“Don’t push it,” he said.

They thumped lightly onto the ground. Katal landed similarly, and performed a small cartwheel. She was ready for this. Trunks deposited the sword slung over this shoulder onto the grass.

“Alright. Do you remember what I told you about my first ascension?”

Katal halted and turned back toward him. She cleared her throat.

“You said it happened right after Gohan’s death,” she said, “That it was fueled by the emotion from what you saw.”

“Right. The power of a Super Saiyan unlocks when you feel a great need. For Gohan, all he had to do was envision all of his closest friends dying at the hands of the Androids. His need for justice empowered him. When he died, I was angry too. Desperate and alone. I didn’t just want to avenge him; I had to.”

The passion with which he spoke gave her chills. They both shared a common hatred for the Androids, but she couldn’t really imagine the same amount of anger in his heart inhabiting her own. She hadn’t lost anyone close; at least, not to the Androids. Though when Lilina had walked out of the hospital room, she had certainly felt a spark from that fire.

“So you’ll need to draw from whatever fuels you to fight. Let it take you over. Make it your strength,” Trunks continued, “What fuels you?”

Katal shied from the question. Obviously she fought to free the world from the Androids. Until she’d met Trunks, she’d honestly believed that she was the only one with the strength capable to take them on. It was her duty to fight when no one else could; right?

"You know why,” she said. It was becoming hazy already.

“I want to hear it.”

Katal grunted.

“Because the Androids murder innocent people. The world lives in fear. It’s up to me to face them when no one else can.”

She said the words, but for some reason, she could barely bring herself to believe them. They came out mechanically, with whatever conviction they were supposed to have carried artificially inserted. She looked up at Trunks, who clearly didn’t buy it.

“I know you don’t want to be honest with me. But at least be honest with yourself,” he said.

Katal grit her teeth. He was right. The speech she’d chanted to herself all these years just didn’t have the same kick to it. But why? The Androids are monsters. They kill people for sport, without so much as blinking when the dust from their blasts kicked up. They had made a mockery of her in their last match. They single handedly destroy everything good and beautiful in this world. Why couldn’t she find the motivation in that? Her eyes shifted to Trunks. Even before Gohan’s loss, she could bet that he had always had a much stronger hatred for the Androids than she did. Maybe it was because he had more contact with them, a deeper connection than she had achieved. She’d been kept away at home, often not hearing of the destruction. That must have been it. He’d grown up and seen the devastation they’d caused firsthand his whole life. While she was certainly not blind to it, she had not had the in-depth experience. Fighting gave her a purpose for existing, aside from destroying the Androids.

“Without fighting, I don’t feel right,” she admitted. The Saiyan winced inwardly at that.

“Still not good enough,” Trunks said immediately, pondering with a hand on his chin, “All Saiyans feel that.”

“Oh? What do you think it is then?” Katal snapped, “You don’t know me. Certainly not well enough to make that call.”

Trunks ran a hand over his scalp.

“I know enough to know that your little speech sounded like a military infomercial. Hell, your retort had more heart in it. You may not want to tell me what it is, but you’ve got some other motivation. I can see it every time you spar with me. Something else is behind every punch. It’s why you don’t automatically use your ki, even though you’re better at manipulating it. It’s why you want to keep going, even though you’re exhausted.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Katal, her voice lowered. But doubt edged on her statement. An unforgettable air hung heavily on his words, the same way that John’s did with he knew she’d been training at night. Trunks was onto something; and the fact that she didn’t fully know what it was aggravated her.

“Is it about your mother?”

Immediately, she shut down. He just crossed the line she’d tried so fervently to blur. All bets were off now.

“You know nothing of my mother.” Katal's tone grew dark. Unconsciously, her power began to rise.

“The subject clearly affects you. What’s behind it?”

Trunks knew that he was treading dangerously, but it didn’t seem to matter. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. He wanted to know more, regardless of the consequences.

“I’m warning you,” Katal snarled.

A white hot aura surrounded her. Bits of rock and grass floated up and cracked apart. The very air in the vicinity seemed to crackle with energy. Trunks could feel the rage burning within her, and he knew he couldn’t have been the sole cause.

“Imagine losing her,” he called over the blustering wind emanating from the Saiyan. “Imagine losing her to the Androids!”

The words were lost on her as she powered up. She’d kept the angst and anger locked inside for too long. The second he’d mentioned Lilina, after just losing the only physical reminder she’d had of her, he’d pushed her too far. She let out a long yell, letting the power build in her body. Sparks flew like wildfire, and the ground shook violently beneath them. Trunks had lost his words. It took so little to throw her over the edge. One minute she was smiling and bounding about with glee; the next, she was howling with rage. He knew that she was unstable, but not to this extent. But even as her power rose, he sighed in relief. Pure rage wasn’t enough to make her jump to Super Saiyan. He could see her slowing down, growing tired and defeated. There wasn’t a need behind her anger. Soon, a loud snap pierced the air, and she fell to her knees, swallowing as much air as she could.

  
Trunks pursed his lips, waited for her breath to steady, and extended his hand. Katal was on the verge of tears, but stayed determined to not let them fall. The demisaiyan in front of her was the last person on this earth she’d allow to cause her to cry. She looked at his gesture, bared her teeth, and hoisted herself to her feet on her own. A little pain flashed through Trunks’ chest. He saw the hurt in her cerulean eyes. Whatever trust they’d shared before had shattered. Her tail wrapped around her thigh.

“Are you alright?” he asked superfluously.

“Fine,” she lied.

The bite to her casual remark made him wince.

“Can we at least—“

“No. And I won’t answer any more questions. From now on, we’re training. That’s it.”

Trunks tightened his lips into a thin line, and gave a barely perceptible nod. He wanted to console her, to apologize. But in her state, saying anything could have landed him into deeper water. He had the choice to oblige her or end the training. For now, he decided on the former. Maybe letting her pummel him would make her feel better. As expected, she kicked, beat and punched her way through her rage. But even though she landed quite a few hits, she felt just as miserable as she did when the day had begun. She’d lost something precious to her, failed to ascend, and revealed one of her darkest demons to a person she no longer trusted. The day wore on in a storm of wordless battering. By the end, both Saiyans looked like they’d been through a war zone. As Trunks went to collect his sword, he noticed Katal take off toward Capsule, not bothering to say a word.

When Katal returned, she found Bulma in the living room, crunching on a bag of potato chips. She muttered something to herself and grudgingly forced the door open.

“I was just looking for you,” said Bulma, uttering the words the Saiyan least wanted to hear.

“What great timing,” she said, forcing a smile.

“I was wondering if you wanted me to call your family, let them know you’re okay.”

“No,” Katal replied immediately. Any contact with her parents at all would only make her feel worse. “No, thank you.”

“Is that really fair to them?” Bulma asked.

“Please don’t.”

The scientist sighed, and shook her head.

“Fine. But you should call them sometime.”

Katal mumbled something like: “I’ll get to it later,” before heading out of the room, feeling exponentially worse than she had before.

—

The next few weeks hardly went better. Her sessions with Trunks were awkward and mostly silent save the small, ill-conceived attempts at banter. They spent less and less time sparring together, eventually breaking off to train separately for the majority of the day. Bulma noticed the tacit tension at the dinner table, and did her best to stave it by making light smalltalk. Both Saiyans either responded with nods or light chuckles, and the conversation thus ended. Occasionally, she’d find time to talk to Katal or Trunks alone, but both of them were mute on the subject. The scientist grew increasingly irritated with the clear clashing of pride going on in her midst, so she often decided to shut herself off in her lab. Both Katal and Trunks had distanced themselves from her. She didn’t mind all that much anymore, chalking it up to the lack of faith in her time machine. They had had some talk about it at dinner, but the topic never made it past the biting satire. Still, that didn’t dissuade her. There was always hope. She shook her head and tuned out the latest broadcast on Android activity in the South, getting down to work on the next part on the time machine upgrade. Messing with the new family dynamic was the last thing on her laundry list of problems to fix. Deep down, Katal wished she could confide in Bulma. Unfortunately, she could not convince herself that their conversations would be kept confidential. She suspected that the scientist had let something slip in an exchange with Trunks, and that was why he had made it a point to pester her about her life.

Why did he prod her? She didn’t ask him any personal questions. Come to think of it, she didn’t ask him anything at all. She knew next to nothing about him, save what he mentioned about Gohan or the failed trip back in time. The latter made her ache with curiosity, and yet she would never push beyond what he would reveal himself. Until that inciting incident to their tension three weeks ago, she had had no reason to shy away from him. Aside from his occasional arrogance and irritating inquisitiveness, she had rather liked him. He brimmed with incalculable compassion, and possessed a selfless nature that eerily reminded her of her mother. But he was serious and unwavering, much like John. But instead of repelling her, his shared qualities with John drew her in. So much so that she consciously had to pull away. Closeness brought danger, risk. Potential for pain and loss. In this world, she was better off solo. Wasn’t she?

Once again, she felt alone and isolated. Lilina wasn’t there to comfort her. She couldn’t call home without tipping off John. And who’s to say that they would even want to speak to her? They had walked out on her, not the other way around as she’d originally intended. Anger welled up inside her again. The ability to fight was supposed to be under her control, not because of their absence. She sighed to herself as she walked the halls, thoughts bouncing around her head like pinballs. Finally being able to fight openly had restored her sanity after ripping away from her old life. But this new goal to reach Super Saiyan was making her go out of her mind. She’d tried multiple times now to ascend (with and without Trunks). Each one had ended as pitifully as the first. Now that her training was at an impasse, she needed something else to pass the time when she wasn’t meditating in the greenery dome or performing her solo kata. Truth be told, there were aspects of her old life apart from her mother that she missed. In the duffel John had packed when she left the hospital in South City, her sheet music was not among the clothes and other artifacts inside.

Katal had taken up piano when she was only seven, after watching her mother play nocturnes in the evenings. At first she hated the thing, dreading practicing her scales and those silly nursery pieces. Her mother, however, loved it, and as the girl got better, she grew to find comfort in playing. She found such beauty in the music from a combination of strings and percussion. It didn’t quell the unrest entirely, but it at least distracted her from her overwhelming need to hit something—most of the time; she had broken eight of them.  
She longed to hear the tinkering of piano keys beneath her fingers again. She considered asking Bulma if they might have one in storage, but she didn’t want to trouble the feverish blue-haired scientist. Apart from food and sleep needs, the woman never left her lab. The thought to ask Trunks passed as quickly as it came. Trunks usually busied himself with volunteering in the city, or moping at the other end of the compound—mostly trying to avoid her. As far as she was aware, they didn’t have much in common anyway, save their mutual love of the fight and hatred of the Androids. She knew as little about him as he did of her. The only thing that had really intrigued her aside from his heritage was his sword, and she hadn’t even bothered to ask about that.

Katal had explored the broken compound quite a few times, yet always managed to find new passageways. The place really was gargantuan. On occasion she would need reach out for one of the Briefs’ energy signatures just to get her orientation straight. It was not the hallways, but the locked doors that irritated her most, though she could hardly blame the Briefs’ extra security. They were a high profile family. Nonetheless, it hindered her search to find a piano within the compound. She continued to scour the place from top to bottom, figuring that nobody in their right mind would lock a piano away. It was meant to be played, after all. Just as she was about to give up, she noticed a door at the end of one small hallway. She hadn’t recognized it before, and this was the last small corner of the household. Curiously, she walked towards it and closed her fingers on the knob, praying for it to be unlocked. Click. She grinned and stepped past the doorframe, noticing first how dark the room was. The meager illumination from the hallway only reached a couple feet onto the carpeting. Her hand combed the trimming, settling on the light switch. When the overheads popped on, a wide smile beamed across her face.

In a broken domed building like Capsule, the glorious black and white vision that lay in front of her seemed so out of place. The keys practically glowed through their thin coating of dust against the ebony varnished wood; gold lettering emblazoned above. It was easily the most beautiful instrument Katal had ever seen in her life. But as she knew, looks weren’t everything when it came to a good piano. She inched forward and extended her hand, setting it gently upon middle C. Sure enough, the note cried out horribly flat. Her hand snapped back, and found its way to her chin. It needed tuning. She remembered her mother working on their piano back at home. It wasn’t nearly as grandiose as this one, but she figured that Bulma would have a similar plier to what Lilina used. A set of drawers stood in the corner of the room, covered in a layer of dust that mirrored the coating on the instrument itself. Bulma must not have programmed the cleaning bots to take care of this room. Katal rifled through the top drawer, and found the pliers stuffed haphazardly in the back. She extracted it, and stood up to tune the instrument, but first decided to comb through the other drawers. It couldn’t hurt, after all. She leafed through the middle drawer, but nothing popped out at her. When she reached the bottom drawer, she gasped in astonishment. Dozens of books of sheet music lined the drawer: classical, jazz, pop, even a few rock and roll albums. Immediately, she spotted one that she’d had back home. She pulled it out, looking at the cover: Nocturnes.

At first she was nervous to tune the instrument herself for fear of breaking it with her increased strength. She willed her energy back, a furrowed look of concentration on her face as she slowly turned the strings. It felt like hours, but the Saiyan would not relent until every key rung out with perfect pitch. The seat glided across the carpet as she pulled it out and sat herself into position. Her tail slackened and fell behind her, and her fingers laid themselves upon the keys. She opened the sheet music to a piece she’d practiced since she was eleven. With a sigh, she began.

The soft pitter wafted into the air. Each note came more easily than the last, as if ingrained in her fingers from memory. It took awhile. A few dissonant mistakes cut into the current of melody, but Katal glanced over them, her brow furrowed. She knew that she was no virtuoso, but nonetheless felt light and full when she played, now transitioning to the next stanza. Highs and lows danced in synchronicity, creating an ethereal feeling of the night in the small study. Her eyes, which had been following the lines on the page, fluttered shut. She felt the music now as it exited her hands and magnified from the instrument. Nothing else existed but her and the sound.

Trunks’ ears pricked up as he came through the front door, returning from one of his city-wide sweeps. He had a habit of surveying the city, helping where he could when he wasn’t training. The sound carrying through the compound was strangely familiar. As far as he knew, the only one who could play piano was his grandmother. She had loved it more than cooking, which—as anyone who had ever come to contact with her would know—encompassed most of her life at Capsule. But she had passed away some years ago. So who was playing it?  He crept down the hallways, following the source of the sound. As he approached, he stopped dead at the beginning of the hallway. His mouth hung agape. Had the black hair not given Katal away immediately, the tail certainly would have. Wait a minute, the tail—it was loose. He’d hadn’t seen it loose since the day at the pool. Not daring to breathe, he stood in silence and listened to the melodious sounds entering his ears. In spite of himself, he smiled.

Only now that she had fully immersed herself in the playing did Katal realize how much she had missed it. Fighting gave her purpose and made her feel alive, but the piano fed her soul. In spite of what had happened back at home, she used to have both—relatively balanced. So much had happened since then. It had been months, and she hadn’t even called. Was it from fear? Or shame? She wasn’t sure now. The allure of her heritage, which she still knew next to nothing about—the promise of openness and strength—all of it seemed so lost. What if her parents would take her back? Would she need to remain here? The piece faded away, with the shadows of its sounds still hanging in the air. Suddenly, she turned to face the hall, swearing that she’d heard something. Nothing was there; save the corridor walls. Katal sighed, nothing was certain anymore. She made a mental note on the location of the piano study, and headed to the kitchen for an early dinner.

When she got there, however, she found Trunks fixing himself something as well. As soon as their eyes met, he quickly dropped his gaze and pretended to slice up condiments on the counter, which he had already done once. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care about Katal's withdrawn nature, but he was failing miserably. She shrouded herself with mystery; a lingering enigma. On the one hand, she showed such depth and soul. On the other, she couldn’t seem any more self absorbed. Katal ignored him and started to empty the fridge, tearing out whatever food she could find, not really caring what it was. If it kept him from asking her anything else, she would stay in there forever.

“What are you getting?” came his voice.

“A knuckle sandwich, want one?”

He groaned.

“What’s your problem?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for the last six weeks and now you try smalltalk. It’s annoying. You know we both hate it.”

“Well I’m trying to talk to you now, aren’t I?” he replied. “The least you could do is humor me.”

Katal fought back another insult. She had to concede that he was right; she was being a bit combative.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Trunks dismissed this as bait for another argument.

“You’re getting stronger,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “I can sense it.”

Katal shrugged.

“You ready to ramp up the training?” he asked.

Katal lowered her eyes.

“I don’t know.” It was her first honest answer in a long time.

“Why not?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, as if working it out just now for herself, “I don’t know if it’ll help.”

“It will,” Trunks said, a little taken aback at her sudden lack of confidence, “Just give it some time. It’s not easy to become a Super Saiyan.”

“That’s not why.”

Trunks raised an eyebrow. What else could it be: that she hated him? That she’d just given up the will to fight? That she wanted to become the pianist in the West City Philharmonic? Anything was possible at this point.

“I think I’m going to go back home.”

Anything except that.

“What?” Trunks exclaimed before he could stop himself.

“I know what I’ll go back to,” she said fiercely, “And it’s nothing to do with you— It’s my choice.”

Trunks furrowed his brow.

“When are you planning to leave?”

Katal folded her arms, her tail now entwining itself around her thigh.

“We’ll see.”

“You’ll just come back here if it doesn’t work out. Is that right?” Trunks said, a little harsher than he had intended, “Like we’re just the secondary safety measure.”

“For your information, you are the secondary,” Katal said, “I have a family too.”

“Hn,” Trunks grunted, “Now you care about family.”

“I KNEW IT!” she cried, jabbing a finger into his chest, “You’re still on about that!”

Trunks crossed his arms.

“That’s why you’re avoiding me,” she went on angrily, “Well I’ve already apologized once. I’m not doing it again.”

“All you care about is fighting and ascending. It’s like the rest of the world is just a pit stop to you.”

The atmosphere in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

“Unbelievable,” Katal said, “You’re acting as if I’d tried to kill her myself.”

“You’re insane!” Trunks exploded, “I’d practically forgotten about the whole thing until you came in here and started spouting off for no good reason. One minute you’re calm, the next—argh! It’s easier to avoid the Androids than to avoid a fight with you!”

“You certainly had those complaints ready. I’ll save you the trouble of putting up with me and just leave.”

“I won’t stop you.”

“Well—“ her voice cracked. But the insult she had formed wouldn’t come. She hadn’t actually expected him to rise to her challenge, let alone respond as quickly as he did. “Fine.”  
They stood in silence for a moment. Katal saw the anger in the corners of Trunks’ mouth and in the knit of his brow, but his eyes shone with sadness. She tightened her lips into a line and glared at the demisaiyan, as if willing him to feel what she felt. Trunks tried to glare back, but couldn’t stand it long before he dropped his gaze to the floor. Katal grit her teeth, her face as hard as ice, and turned towards the door to leave.

  
“Thank your mother for the hospitality,” she ground out.

Not another word was exchanged as she exited to her quarters. Yet, as she rounded the bend in the corridor, she heard the distinct smash of ceramic on wood.


	7. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After plateauing in her training, and friction with Trunks, Katal decides that it’s time to go back her adoptive parents. But something sinister yearns for entertainment.

It didn’t take Katal long to pack the duffel bag with her very few possessions. There were only four sets of casual work out clothes, the Capsule-symbol-adorned fighting gi, and some basic toiletries. Out of fondness, she had kept the shredded leather gloves (if they could even be called that anymore) by her bedside; the final thing to go into the bag before she zipped it shut. She swung it over her shoulder and took one last walk through the compound. When she passed the indoor garden, her heart ached. Some of her most calming meditation had happened in there. It was where she’d first begun a friendship. She strode past the piano study, which sent another pain through her chest. It was doubtful she’d ever touch such a magnificent instrument again. As she passed Bulma’s lab, she heard the whirs and clicks of machinery through the door. She reached for the handle, but pulled her hand back. The last thing she needed was Bulma convincing her to stay. She decided against a goodbye and strode out of the front door, making sure to shut it silently behind her.

Flying past her training grounds made Katal's already uneasy stomach churn. She looked down at the place where Trunks had first changed her guard. The fractured meadow gleamed underneath the sun, its craters and cracks splitting like wrinkles in the grass. Trees pointed like daggers to the windblown spot where she’d attempted the jump to Super Saiyan. She could see her reflection pass over the pool where they’d swum on the day the Androids attacked as it glittered like a mirror below the trickling waterfall. Nothing felt right again. When she’d walked out that door at Capsule, she’d walked away from everything she’d ever wanted and more. Bulma had become like family: packing picnic capsules for training, giving Katal a precious sensu bean to heal when she could have saved it later for Trunks, even offering to do her hair before training. And then there was Trunks. He’d offered Katal the chance to be free from the tyrannical machines, from her restrictive family, and from a large portion of herself. With every act of destruction, a new creation formed in its place. When they had sparred, she had lost her confidence, but gained wisdom and knowledge in the form of a sensei. When he had destroyed the old perceptions she held about what “family” meant, he had given her a home. In his destruction of her old ways, he had created a friendship—if only fleeting. When he’d pushed her away, she’d gained the necessary strength to confront her family. But the personal damage was too much for either to bear. Words would not heal the wounds that made it impossible for one to trust the other. As long as Trunks bore resentment for Katal's decision to follow him into battle, Katal knew he would not commit fully to their study together. And she could not, on principle, continue to learn from someone who reminded her so much of John in his backwards ways of protecting her. But that meant that he’d cared enough to protect her in the first place.

Mountains blurred into plains below her as she cut across the sky. For what seemed like hours, she bounced back and forth between thoughts of Trunks and what she might say when she arrived back at home. Would her adoptive parents even take her back? Would her mother have moved on, throwing away all of the memories of their old life? Katal shuddered to think of seeing Lilina—the same woman who had taken her in (now that she knew the truth about where she came from, it meant so much more)—armed with a scowl and turning her, Katal, away. And what would John do? He could override any instinct Lilina had now. That much was clear at the hospital. Or was Katal just being naive? Lilina must have played a part in the decision as well, though Katal had no idea how much. There was also the matter about her heritage. Only they could give her answers with the data chip destroyed and Bulma’s knowledge exhausted. If (and that was a very big if) they would take her back, she sensed a very long and arduous talk, and she found herself feeling dread rather than excitement.

And then there was Trunks. She held no delusions about regaining any sort of contact her master. The things she said, she realized, could have easily shut down that avenue for good. He didn’t deserve the treatment she’d given him, even if he was wrongfully angry at her for what she did. All he’d really tried to do before that attack was foster a friendship, and the terms they had ended on were clearly less than friendly. How horrible did she have to be to cast aside those wonderful months over a stupid disagreement? Katal groaned and increased her speed. She was no more certain of her decision since she’d started.

The rough sounds of a flightcar cut through the relative tranquility of the South City countryside. Katal glanced down to see a red craft speeding near the ground. For some reason, she had an ugly feeling about that car. She shook it off and smirked. Probably just a couple of kids out for a joyride, she reasoned.

It was only when Katal touched down onto the buttery field in front of her old home that she became completely and utterly terrified. The place was exactly how she remembered; the vaulted roof, short stone columns over the foyer, and reddish wood paneling lining the outside. She stared down the kitschy country home as if facing an enemy. All of her thoughts had been focused on getting here. Now that she had arrived, what in the world would she say? _Hi Mom. Hi John. Where have I been? Oh, just training for months with another Saiyan. It’s no big deal._ Katal ran a hand down her face. This was going to be much harder than she thought, and the task seemed practically insurmountable in the first place. She took a gulp and walked up to the door, hesitated, and lightly knocked three times.

The seconds ticked by, and Katal tapped her foot nervously. Her tail had already left indents in her thigh where it had coiled. Maybe they weren’t home…Oh, that would save her the trouble. She could just go back to Capsule and apologize, and—the door swung open. Lilina White looked the worst she had in her life. Her blonde hair was tied back into a horribly messy bun, and her flowery dress looked wrinkled and askew. The lines on her face seemed to have deepened, and the puffiness beneath her glittering eyes must have become a permanent fixture. To Katal, though, there was no one she would want to see more. Both stood completely silent, Lilina with her mouth agape, and Katal struggling to find the right words. Before the Saiyan could speak, she found herself enveloped in her mother’s embrace. Katal, completely confounded, said nothing. Instead, she held onto her mother as if to never let go.

“You’re alive…” Lilina choked out.

Katal couldn’t form any words. She was too happy to be back in Lilina’s loving arms. The best arms. Well, the only arms. Lilina’s embrace marked the first time anyone had held her in six long months. All of her fears seemed to melt away. That was, until she caught a glimpse of a scowling face over her mother’s shoulder. Katal grudgingly freed herself from her mother and gave a curt nod to John. His hair was shorter, and he had since grown a harsh looking mustache. In contrast to Lilina, he looked much more put together, though his rectangular spectacles were slightly crooked. His eyes also had accrued a slight pouch to them.

“You’re back,” John said brusquely.

Katal gave a barely perceptible nod. He shifted his weight, and Katal found that he could not retain eye contact.

“Why didn’t you call?” he asked.

“I didn’t think you’d want to speak to me.”

Lilina laid a hand on her shoulder.

“We’d feared the worst—“ she murmured, “After the attack on West City.”

Katal swallowed, but the lump in her throat would not budge.

“Were you there? Did you fight?” John interjected, though more out of curiosity than anger.

“I tried,” Katal said, her voice low and unmarked by her trademark ferocity.

The man blinked twice, a little taken aback.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’m glad to see you in one piece.” he added for Lilina’s benefit.

Katal's mouth opened slightly, then shut again.

“We wanted to call as soon as we heard about the attack on the city,” he said, “But we had no idea how to reach you.”

The Saiyan suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She had forgotten that she had explicitly asked Bulma not to call them.

“Must have slipped Bulma’s mind,” she said, her eyes shooting to the ground, “Her son did almost die.”

“Oh no!” Lilina exclaimed, “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine…” Katal said quickly, “With him being half—“ She stopped herself. She figured that it might be prudent to omit that particular bit of information.

“—half harebrained as he is,” she recovered, “It could have been a lot worse.”

There was a long pause. Katal's tail wrapped around her waist, and the linoleum on the inside floor suddenly became incredibly intriguing. The sounds of a hovercraft engine roared in the distance, breaking the silence. Katal turned, and instantly recognized the red flightcar heading swiftly toward the cottage.

“Crazy kids,” John grumbled, his posture stiffening. “If they even think about joyriding in that field…”

No, something was wrong. That car was traveling fast, far too fast. But that didn’t explain the fear rising in Katal’s body. She didn’t sense any energy coming from the car. Her heart dropped into her toes. No…it couldn’t be. Not here. Not now. The car grew closer and closer, and she soon spotted the matching haircuts of blonde and black. They were unmistakable. Lilina noticed her daughter’s tensed muscles, and took a look at the car. Her mouth dropped, and her face blanched lighter than her wiry hair. From the television, she could recognize them instantly.

Katal's expression said it all. John squinted through his glasses at the oncoming vehicle, and his face turned as white as a sheet.

“W-what are they doing here?" he stuttered.

"Get mom in the house!" Katal snapped.

John scooped Lilina into his arms, but Katal stood frozen to the spot. Her mind had gone into crisis mode, and worked at a mile a minute. Of all places, the Androids were here? They couldn’t have seen her flying in the valley. They would have easily overtaken her or shot her down. Oh no. Maybe they were looking for Trunks. Using her as a tracker! But she hadn’t taken them to Trunks. She’d taken them somewhere far worse.

She’d have to fight them alone. But how could she? She had everything in the world to lose standing a few feet away. She took a deep breath, and dropped into her guard. There wasn’t any time to ask questions. The only choice was to draw the machines away from the cottage, and try to stay alive as long as possible. As long as she could kept the sadistic monsters entertained, there was a chance that Lilina and John could stay alive. It would cost her her life. But there was a chance.

“Katal, get inside!" John called.

She turned, and took in the image of her family. Here in this moment—so many words to yet be said, but she couldn’t form one. The Saiyan’s eyes hardened, and she turned to face the oncoming car. It had taken a proper shape now. She snarled. That was as close as those monsters would ever get to this house. She powered up and rocketed directly towards the Androids, trying desperately to block out Lilina’s pleading scream. A door slammed.

She approached the car at blinding speed—close enough so she could see their expressionless, frigid eyes now; and stood, arms outstretched, to block their path. Seventeen, who was behind the wheel, smirked and launched up and out of the car. Eighteen soon followed suit, and now Katal had a two ton vehicle hurtling toward her. Just before it could ram her over, Katal drew her Incisor blade of ki and sliced it in two. The car halves soared out to the sides, burrowing into the loamy soil of the field.

“Bra-vo,” said Seventeen, mocking an applause as he floated gently onto the ground. Wisps of smoke billowed up from the burning wreckage of the flightcar, a vehicle that no doubt once belonged to one of the Androids’ victims. Katal's tail clenched tight around her waist. Stay focused. Keep their attention. Her eyes darted around for signs of Android Eighteen. She didn’t have to look far, as the blonde landed with a light thump to her right.

“I told you this would be fun,” Eighteen gleefully addressed her counterpart.

“I don’t know what you freaks are playing at,” Katal growled, switching her attention between the machines. “But I suppose you’ll want a fight. Well here I am. Bring it on.”

“No one can challenge us,” Eighteen replied serenely, “You least of all.”

“Enough. Let's get this over with.”

“Moving rather fast, aren’t you? At least take us to dinner before introducing us to the family."

Katal's stomach dropped.

“Oho,” said Seventeen, fresh malice gleaming in his pale eyes. “Is this what you were talking about Eighteen?”

“Oh yes," Eighteen said with a grin, “This will be interesting.”

A chill swept over Katal.

“What do you want?” she murmured, her voice drained of all of its former fervor.

“A little slow on the pickup, but they get it eventually,” the blonde Android snickered to Seventeen, who joined in with a peal of dark chuckles. “My childish brother here wanted to take you out the moment he saw you. So did I, at first. But then I decided to see where you were going. Maybe you’d lead us back to the den you fighters keep crawling out of. Find all of our ‘monkeys in a barrel.’”

The words made her entire body boil with disgust. They were making death, namely her own, into a sadistic game. Katal trembled with rage.

“You Saiyans are like flies that won’t stop buzzing in our ears. But at least we get to have the fun of exterminating you all at once,” said Eighteen.

“Speaking of which,” Seventeen interjected smoothly, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Katal could only assume they meant Trunks. Her rage diminished, and her heart sank. Now more than ever, she needed his help. But he would never come. She’d made sure of that this morning. How painful and ironic it was that the Androids would expect him to come to her rescue. And why should he? She didn’t deserve it. How could she be so stupid?

“Fuck you,” she spat.

“I guess that means we got him last time,” said Seventeen.

Katal bristled, but decided against contradicting him.

"Tch. No matter,” he said, “I would like to meet whoever’s in that house, though.”

With a cruel smile, Seventeen shot off. Katal gasped and rocketed after him, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Frantically, the Saiyan charged an Incisor beam and launched it at the Android. Seventeen saw it coming, dove easily to the side, and watched as the ki sliced cleanly into the field. He looked back to his pursuer and raised a finger, forming a small golden ball. The Saiyan snarled and burst as much energy as she could to catch up. As he prepared to flick his ki at the cottage, all the technique from Katal's spars suddenly went out the window. She went on pure instinct.

SLAM.

Katal crashed headlong into the android, throwing him off balance and flinging the ball into a nearby hillside.  Seventeen grimaced, swung around and slammed his knee into her cheek, sending her flying a good ten feet across the field. The Saiyan recovered and barreled toward the Android, a fire burning in her cerulean eyes. She swung her left jab, missed, but somehow managed to land the reverse punch right into the Android’s stomach. But when she looked up to see his expression, her face drained of color. Seventeen had not even winced. In fact, he was smiling that much more broadly. Katal jumped backward, her fists and teeth clenched. She let out a scream, letting power course through her like a current.

“Take this!”

Not one, but two bright blue beams of ki had formed in her hands. She crossed them above her head, and heaved one right after the other at the black-haired machine. They whizzed toward him, but only went through an afterimage. He rematerialized a foot from her nose, and surprised her with a kick to the gut. Blood spurted from her mouth as her insides took on the feeling of being run through a blender; and the Saiyan crumpled into a fetal position, her jaw fixed open.

“See Seventeen,” Eighteen’s voice came from behind her, “That’s what you get when you don’t knock first.”

“My mistake,” said Seventeen coyly, “Will you do the honors, then?”

Katal took in a huge gulp of air and willed herself to stand. Inch by agonizing inch, she ratcheted herself upright. Eighteen’s face remained unchanged; positively bored. But before the Saiyan could blink, the Android had slammed a fist into her face, sending Katal soaring toward Seventeen. He swatted her back with an elbow to the spine, and Eighteen deflected her away like a piece of stray paper. Both Androids broke into cruel smiles. For all intents and purposes, Katal had become their volleyball. She tried to block the strikes—to escape—but in vain. Katal clenched her teeth, begging and pleading for release. Blow after blow, she drifted in and out of consciousness. The pain had become unbearable.

_At least I’ve diverted their attention._

A kick to the back of the neck.

_I won’t last long now._

Another blow to solar plexus.

_I’ve failed them._

Skidding onto the ground.

_I’ve failed them all._

She screamed. A particularly brutal kick had landed near the base of her tail and shocked her senses into overdrive, filling her with a mixture of adrenaline and searing torture. Her body was no longer her own as she reached and closed her fingers around Seventeen’s throat. Something had snapped—literally. He had broken her tail. Seventeen’s eyes widened in momentary surprise, but he quickly chopped her arm away, sending what felt like a metal rod all the way up to her shoulder. She dropped like a rock and collapsed in a heap, her breathing shallow. The sheer amount of pain slicing through her tail and spine rendered her completely frozen.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Seventeen absently, “What a waste of time, Eighteen.”

“Everything’s a waste of time to you.”

All of Katal's limbs ceased to function. Whatever energy she once had was depleted.  Death was better than this. She coughed.

“You monsters.” she rasped through the blood clogging her windpipe.

The Androids had blurred into indiscernible shapes from the water streaming across her eyes. But she could feel the evil amidst her agony.

“I seem to remember your little friend saying the same thing,” said Eighteen’s cold voice, “He didn’t understand us either. How furious the humans make us. They’re pathetic, inferior creatures. They don’t deserve to breathe this air. And neither do you.”

Katal boiled with anger, but her body would still not move.

“We’ve let you live for entertainment, mostly,” Eighteen chuckled, “Watching you try and challenge us is better than watching humans flee like rats.”

Her visual field had suddenly taken on the consistency of a watercolored sunset, golden light enveloping the dark, foreboding shapes standing above her.

“Now be good and hold still,” said Seventeen, the silhouette of his hand reaching toward her in the haze.

A subtle smirk played across her broken face before she left consciousness in a roaring howl, the smell of singing flesh, and the sensation of burning alive.

\--

Weightlessness. Clouds. The pain was gone. But where was she? Dead? No, not yet. But she would die soon; she was sure of that. Though the freeing, floating experience sweetly relieved her from the preceding agony, she did not feel at peace. What a way to die. Burnt like a hamburger on the backyard grill at the hands of two tin cans.

Suddenly, her whole body seemed to fill with energy. It reached from the tips of her fingers to the edge of her toes. The clouds disappeared in to blackness, and she braced herself for a maelstrom of pain, but it did not come. Only a dull ache pulsed in her muscles. Her eyes creaked open. Smoke veiled most of the hills, and the sky had taken on a thick layer of clouds. But instead of two Androids, she saw only one figure standing over her. Katal jumped up, nearly colliding with him.

“Whoa, take it easy, I gave you a Sensu bean.”

She knew that voice. Her vision slowly cleared, revealing Trunks guiding her back down.

“How did you—where are the Androids?” Katal sputtered, her eyes darting about.

“Gone.”

“Did you see them go? Where did they go?”

“You need to stay calm.”

She paused, seeing his expression darken.

“What happened?”

Trunks slowly dropped his gaze. For a moment, Katal was still.

"Trunks?"

Still nothing. She turned her head, expression blank, to where his eyes had shifted. Her heart stopped.

The South City countryside looked like a war zone. Scars and singes littered the soggy grass, and a large patch had burnt away completely. It was bad enough for Katal to see the hills and plains she had traversed as a child in this state, but one of the hardest parts was taking in the shattered remains of her childhood home. As expected, the entire house lay in complete ruin. The ceiling had caved in. Bricks and wood lay strewn about, along with mangled artifacts from the rooms inside: a broken vase of her mother’s, one of John’s old telescopes, bent like a crumpled straw, charred pages of sheet music, dampened by the rain. The piano would undoubtedly be splintered inside. But that wasn’t what stilled her breath.

Two listless bodies lay on the ground. Their faces were serene, almost peaceful. Only the deepest of wrinkles still shone on their features. Broken glasses. A stained tie. The traces of tears still on pale cheeks. Curly blonde hair strewn haphazardly about feminine shoulders. Scraps of flowery fabric.

But all Katal could focus on was her calm, frozen face. Broken limbs. The petunias on her dress. A hole through her chest. It didn’t look like a quick death. The Androids didn’t even give her that. And John…did she see him die first? What sort of games did the Androids play? Katal's fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles bleached, and she felt a deep, penetrating pulse. Every muscle in her body trembled.

“I’m sorry, Katal” Trunks murmured, reaching to touch her…

In that moment, pure wrath enveloped Katal. She threw her head back, and let out a long, feral scream. A wave of ki sent Trunks flying backward and into the ground. Energy coursed through the Saiyan girl to the point of almost bursting. Sparks skittered atop her skin and crackled in the air surrounding her body. The ground began to shake. Trunks, more than familiar with what was about to transpire, immediately tensed his muscles, readying himself to subdue her if needed. Katal's tail lashed wildly behind her, and cracks were forming around her feet. Her hair was alight, and an electric turquoise was filling her irises. The clouds above thundered, and a howling gale kicked up in the valley. Every injustice that the Androids had committed seemed to amplify in her mind. A goldenrod aura soon surrounded her, and her scream got all the louder. The air cracked like a gunshot, and Katal's hair and tail snapped into a full-on gold. Trunks stiffened, and he felt a sharp sensation shoot through his chest. He looked to the pair of dead bodies on the ground beside him, and visions of Gohan’s lifeless form flashed in his head. He clenched his teeth.

Katal fell to her knees, and her hair slowly faded back to black. The thunder above grew quieter, and little drops of rain began to fall to earth. Trunks walked forward and knelt beside her. He clasped a hand on her shoulder, but remained silent. Katal gazed at the motionless forms of her earthen family. Water glossed over their faces like a ghostly veil. Her tail curled around her thigh, dewey drops forming on the bristles. Looking away from Trunks, she forced herself up and stood next to her mother’s side. She grit her teeth as tears threatened to well to the surface. Only now did the full extent of the loss of her race come to the forefront. Before, she’d had John and Lilina; a family to call her own, even if it wasn’t her biological one. It didn’t matter if they had lied to her. It didn’t matter if they had sheltered her. She loved them nonetheless. The Whites had given her a home when she’d crashed on this planet as a baby, the last pureblooded Saiyan of her time. And now her new, harsh reality crystallized in their corpses; she truly had no home.

Trunks wisely remained wordless and out of the way during the burial, watching Katal's movements from a distance. She carefully carved the graves next to Lilina’s favorite garden in the front yard, making sure to avoid her crumpled snapdragons. Though Katal handled Lilina more tenderly, she was still gentle with John’s remains; a man Trunks had known by reputation to be nothing but bitter and hateful. Whatever demon existed between them, she had put it aside to grieve and instill dignity in his death. In observing her gestures, Trunks found himself gaining a tremendous amount of admiration for her. She had never shown true compassion until now.

Katal pursed her lips and gazed into Lilina’s awry front garden, moistened from the storm, at the two freshly raised mounds of earth. As long as the Androids still existed, she vowed to not return to this place. Until she had avenged her family, and every other victim of the machines, she did not deserve to look upon their graves. Sadness and guilt washed over her as she took one last glance at the headstone, which she had fashioned from the remains of the concrete beneath the former foyer. 

_Lilina and John White. The Learned Astronomers. Forever gazing up at the stars._

Unaware of Trunks’ churning thoughts, Katal couldn’t fathom why he would extend the option of letting her return to Capsule. Frankly, she was too angry and distraught to care, and seeing as she had nowhere else to go, she found no choice but to accept his offer. They flew in silence under darkening overcast skies. When Katal wasn’t looking, Trunks would sneak glances at her over the brim of his jacket, knowing better than to confront her openly in her current state. Raindrops had collected in her hair from the preceding downpour, giving the illusion of cobwebs strung between the thick, brambly strands. Her face was rigid, accentuating her gaunt features, making them all the sharper. The broken expression of defeat had withered away, replaced with a hardened jaw and unwavering ocean-blue eyes, fixed on the horizon. Her tail had not moved an inch from its position on her thigh, though it seemed to have gotten tighter. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had watched from afar as she’d poured her soul out onto the piano in the compound. To see her now, her face contorted with grief, made his chest ache. The Androids had claimed his innocence long ago, and now he saw hers fade away bit by bit as the day fell into dusk.

Those hours in the air were the most uncomfortable, miserable hours Katal had experienced in her life. She did not speak to Trunks, even though he had opened up his home to her once again for reasons unknown. The grief that seized her was too much, and she feared she’d break into tears again if she uttered a word.  If only she’d uttered a word at that final moment on the doorstep…So many things left unsaid. No apologies. No last words of love. She hadn’t even told them that she’d missed them. She bit down hard on her lip. It wouldn’t bring them back. It wouldn’t change what happened.

Suddenly, an overwhelming guilt wrenched itself into her head. What did happen?

The realization deafened all other thoughts in her head. It surpassed the sadness, the hatred, and the anger, eclipsing all three with its contagious whisper. Katal didn’t have the strength to fight against it. And why should she? It was right. Lilina and John were gone because of her. In her fog, she hardly noticed that they had reached the compound. Her feet hit the ground, but she might as well have fallen to the bottom of a chasm. The crushing regret and remorse coiled around her like a snake. Trunks saw her body stiffen, and he couldn’t take it any longer. But before he could make a sound, Katal spoke first.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered.

“You didn’t kill them, Katal,” Trunks sighed, “The Androids did.”

The Androids had killed them, but who had led them to the cottage? She did.

“Don’t think for one second that you being there made any difference to the Androids,” Trunks said in a low voice, “Everything you love and hold dear is worth nothing more than garbage to them. It’s just another way to score points. A game.”

“But if I hadn’t been so oblivious. So stupid,” Katal grumbled, “I could have diverted them before they ever knew where I was going. They could have killed me, and this would have been over.

“Dying in vain won’t solve anything.”

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?” Katal thundered, “Those monsters wouldn’t never have come anywhere near that place had I not led them there! I could have kept them alive.”

“For how long?” he shot back, “A few weeks? Months? Don’t you understand? The Androids have no concept of any of that! They will kill for nothing. With or without your lead, they would have found and killed your family just the same on their own.”

“You don’t know that!” Katal cried, “I could have been strong enough to beat them by then.”

“You don’t know that.”

“DON’T PATRONIZE ME!”

“All I’m saying is that you can’t take back what happened, so that leaves one way to move—forward. And the only way to do that is to try and defeat the Androids.”

“And this is coming from a time traveler?”

“So I know this lesson better than anyone! When I went into the past, I thought that I could stop this horror before it even started. But lo and behold, I came back to the same world I had left. My actions, and all of my mother’s hard work had affected nothing. Think of how hard it was to live through that. To lose all hope again, after working for years to bring it back. Now I see you making the same foolish assumption that I did: you would throw away your life here and now on the chance that something could have changed. But you can’t live in the theory that things might have been different. This is reality. They are gone. You are alive. And now that you’re a Super Saiyan, you are more important than ever.”

Katal said nothing, though she felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. So many things jumped out of that statement, but the last was the most poignant. It hardly mattered now that she had finally ascended. As she expected, the power that had scorched through her was unlike any other feeling in the world. She’d been working for months to reach this pinnacle, where for at least a split second, nothing could touch her. But now that she had attained the legend, she only felt worse. Trunks had warned her this would happen, and she had ignored him, too entranced by the promise of unfathomable strength to internalize what he’d meant. Now she knew. She could not have transformed without experiencing painful, personal loss; just as Trunks and his master before him had. The personal, intimate grief and rage proved the only way to unlock the power of a Super Saiyan. And once ascended, there was no going back. Bile rose in her throat. She had to lose her family in order to achieve an upgrade. How did that make her important?

“It’s not fair.”

The words pierced through Trunks like bullets.

“No, it’s not fair.”

Sorrow flooded Katal's chest. He’d also lost someone to the Androids. Gohan meant everything to Trunks. Not a day had gone by during their training that he didn’t mention a technique or a memory from his old master. Now he saw it happen again, with nothing he could have done to prevent it. He was grieving too. Katal wanted to keep talking, but she held her tongue as they walked back into Capsule together.

“Mom must be worried sick,” he said.

Katal lowered her eyes. She had completely forgotten about Bulma.

“I’ll tell her,” said Trunks.

Katal replied with a nod.

“You should probably get some rest,” he suggested.

Katal shuddered. She didn’t want to think about what awaited her in the dark.

“Things will be better in the morning,” he said halfheartedly.

The ghost of a smile flashed on Katal's face for an instant. In spite of herself, she almost laughed. They both knew how much of a lie that was.


	8. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a freshly minted Super Saiyan—shattered by the loss of her parents— Katal decides it's time to help set things right.

_In the dark, she could see them; two pairs of icy cold eyes. Their bodies were identical silhouettes, each emanating an aura blacker than their surroundings. A huddled mass lay crumpled at their feet. It bled and writhed, black hair and bristly tail twitching like a dying insect. Malicious laughter rang from the figures above it. In the distance, a woman with wiry hair was screaming. The man behind her held her back as she tried to launch at the destroyers. A flash of light…_

Katal awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. She forced herself up, heart pounding, and stared out of the window onto the city. Dawn had not yet arrived over the West City hills, the indigo sky slightly veiled by the dim golden lights from the construction sites surrounding Capsule. If that was only the first of her nightmares, she could only imagine what the rest of the night had in store for her.

From that point on, she did everything she could think of to stay awake. For what felt like hours she laid in the bottom of a steaming shower, letting the warm water run over her body, soothing her feverish muscles from the fight. But the calming rhythm of water brought her little relief. It was still too early to go to the piano study on the other end of the compound, so Katal stuck to wandering the halls. She tried performing kata in the open area of the greenhouse dome, but the strikes fell flat and she quickly grew frustrated. The self-inflicted insomnia was proving just as torturous as the nightmare before it. Crushing guilt consumed her. No matter how many times she repeated Trunks’ words in her head, the cruel whisper reminded her of the truth. The thoughts in her head had turned against her in both sleep and wake.

She didn’t know how she ended up outside his door. Exhausted and delirious, she soon found herself sitting on the floor. Eventually the door faded from her vision, and the dark swallowed her again.

As the sun crept in through the curtains of his room, Trunks stretched his arms and cracked his neck. Disturbing afterimages of Gohan clouded his eyes from the night. Though he had grown accustomed to the nightmares, they had not appeared in months. He gruffly shook them off and shuffled out of bed, not bothering to put on a shirt. When he opened his door, his eyebrows arched in surprise. Katal was slumped on the ground across from his room, snoring loudly with her tail slightly twitching. How long had she been there?

At the sound of his footsteps, Katal jolted awake with a snort, stumbling to her feet. The last place she could see clearly in her mind was the greenhouse, but it was still dark then. The hall had brightened, which meant that morning had arrived. That meant that she had slept—dreamlessly slept. But where was she now? She looked up and saw Trunks standing in a doorway, without a shirt and looking tired. Katal scrambled to her feet. How the hell had she gotten here? The half-saiyan smiled softly.

“Rough night?”

“What do you think?” she grumbled.

Suddenly, the distant smells of bacon and toast wafted into her nostrils. At this, Katal's stomach gave a resounding rumble, making her realize that she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Grateful for the distraction, she bolted for the kitchen. Bulma turned and gave her a pitying smile, which Katal tried very hard to return without a growl. The scientist thought better than to continue with a consoling statement.

“I’ll bet you’re pretty hungry,” she said. “So I’m making a classic. Egg in a basket.”

Katal's smile vanished.

“…What?”

Bulma continued whisking the eggs as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Egg in a basket. I’d heard it was your favorite.”

As if on cue, the demisaiyan strolled into the room. Until that moment, Katal hadn’t even noticed that her tail had coiled around her waist. She remembered how shaken Trunks had been after the burial. Yet little trace of it seemed to show as he took his place at the table. She envied his resilience. Despite the delicious meal, breakfast was as awkward as expected. The members of the table stayed mostly silent, blaming their quiet on the quality of the food. Until finally, Katal couldn’t take it.

“I want to train today,” she said.

A momentary stillness hit the table. Trunks looked up from his food, gently setting down his fork.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s like you said. The only way to go is forward.”

—

After he had lost Gohan, Trunks remembered how hardened he had become. So the new, harsher approach Katal took in her training over the next few days came as no surprise to him. Instead of curiously exploring the art of combat as she had previously, she took on fighting with a renewed purpose. She no longer held back her ki attacks, which would have had incredible potential if she had honed them for the months they’d spent sparring. The Saiyan would not relent for a moment, making it incredibly difficult to block her punches, at least in base form. A ravenous anger burned within her; he could see it. Every strike came coupled with a scream, and every ki attack had the heart behind it. It took a great deal of convincing and exhaustive fighting in order for her to even take a breather. But she was still having trouble maintaining the Super Saiyan form. She could get there relatively easily, but keeping it up proved to be an exhausting task. He could only spar with her in small increments before she would drop out.

Little did he know of the introspective challenges Katal faced, and even she wasn’t fully aware. All she knew was how much she detested the constant whispers running through her head whenever she transformed. Every one reminded of what she had to lose in order to attain it, because she couldn’t find the will to do it on her own. For practicality’s sake, she tried to push these thoughts to the back of her mind. As much as she struggled, she knew that she needed the power. No, she craved the power. It not only sustained, but invigorated her. And she would not let something as trivial as guilt get in the way of it. Trunks tried to coax an explanation for the struggle out of the enigmatic Saiyan girl, but unfortunately, it became irritatingly clear that he would get nowhere by asking her directly. If posing personal questions was difficult before; now it was nigh on impossible. Katal, meanwhile, had abandoned irritation in favor of perplexity at his consistent need to inquire about her. She had to give him credit for his persistence. It was beginning to grow on her.

Katal had not forgotten about waking up in front of Trunks’ room the morning after her family had died. It didn’t make sense. One minute she was in the greenhouse, the next, at the foot of his door, out like a light. That, she came to realize, was also the only spot she could think of that she had slept soundly in in weeks. It was the one place where she had escaped the nightmares; grotesque imagery, manifestations of crushing penitence and sadness. She watched Lilina die over and over again, each death worse than the last. But when she had woken up to Trunks standing in in his doorway she had woken from dreamless sleep. Truly, she had no idea what she would do if it weren’t for Trunks. He had saved her life, but that only scratched the surface. The training kept her distracted, and his wisdom helped her through the grief, even though she refused to talk about it openly. It disgusted her to realize that after all this time the demisaiyan had only tried to help, even before she had left, and she had completely alienated him. She’d been insensitive, spiteful, and at times, downright mean. Luckily for her, Trunks had all but put aside whatever issues he had had with her in favor of training. They had the same goal, after all. Unfortunately, they both knew that their combined strength still wasn’t enough. Katal had not yet mastered the transformation, though she grew closer by the day, and Trunks alone did not have the power necessary to take on both Androids. The only thing they could do was work harder.

Meanwhile, Bulma had hit a plateau with her time machine. The scientist had been careful to not alter too much, for fear of messing up the very delicate balance that took so long to get right. Katal pondered why Bulma kept trying to find a way to change the past. Trunks had said it himself, the last time he went, he hadn’t changed anything here. Still, the process began to intrigue the young Saiyan. Between training sessions, she found herself stopping to observe the progress of the machine for a distraction, even offering to help if Bulma needed. Its design was completely radical, yet ingenious. From her homeschooling with John (which she only now saw the value in) she could at least wrap her head around the basic mechanics. She tried to examine it, noticing a message that the scientist had written, “Hope!” But when it came to comprehending the capacitors and functions that actually made it able to jump in space and time, the Saiyan remained at a loss.  
On a summer day, close to the second week after the incident, Katal had exhausted most of her energy harnessing a successful transformation. She had stayed in the form for a good ten minutes, and it had taken its toll. The Saiyan lay drenched in sweat, back into her old workout clothes after trashing the Capsule gi from her fight with the Androids.

“You’re really improving,” Trunks remarked.

“Still not there yet,” Katal replied, wiping her forehead, “This is infuriating.”

“It’s not easy being a Super Saiyan.”

Katal diverted her gaze.

“Yeah, well. It’s still not excusable.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. The only reason I ever got to where I am was because of Gohan.”

“I guess I owe him one then,” said Katal, “If he hadn’t trained you, you wouldn’t be here training me. I would still be as weak and pitiful as I was before. Nowhere near the caliber I need to be.”

Katal was tiring quickly now. It had been far too long since Katal had done anything besides eat, sleep (sparsely) or train. Sometimes she wondered if her body ran on anything other than willpower. If she kept going like that much longer, she’d surely go nuts.

"It's hot," she said.

Trunks cracked a smile, his eyes wandering about. Heat radiated from the ground in the late summer sun, lightly smudging the outlines of the trees surrounding the meadow.

"I've got an idea," he grinned.

\--

  
Not bothering to even take off her shoes, Katal dove headlong into the water when they reached the pool. It soaked into her skin and hair, instantly relieving the soreness in her muscles. The Saiyan stayed still, suspended in the water, until the surface became quiescent. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft rumble of the waterfall overhead.

This was perfect. Leave it to Trunks to find a way to quell the discord inside of her, if only for a moment. Her chest took on a familiar warmth.

Trunks decided against joining her right away, letting the water lap at his bare toes. He gazed off into space, deep in thought. They had been training for close to a year, but they were still nowhere close to being able to defeat the Androids. They were still too powerful. Had he been foolish to think that having Katal alongside would help against them? He clenched his fists, and a sinking feeling took ahold of him. What if he lost Katal like he lost his master? He shook his head. If he let someone else close to him die, he couldn’t live with himself.

Katal eventually resurfaced, having finally run out of air.

“Aren’t you the one that wanted to swim?” she called.

Trunks shook himself out of his daze. He started to get up.

“Hang on,” he said, his brow knitting together, “Come back for a sec.”

Katal raised her eyebrows and stroked over to the shore.

“What?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The words wouldn’t flow. Thankfully, he heard a beeping noise come from his pocket. Ever since the Android attack on West City, he’d kept a communicator with him at all times to keep in contact with his mother. He pulled out the communicator and clicked it on.

“Yeah,” he asked.

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” came Bulma’s voice. “Which first?”

“Bad news,” Katal said immediately.

"The bad news is, it looks like unilateral time travel isn’t possible,” said Bulma irritably, “It would create a paradox. You can still go back in time, but it would be to the other dimension like last time. By the time you get back, whatever you’ve done there won’t change anything here. I’ve run a billion tests, and thought I had it, but I guess even a genius of my standing can’t break the laws of physics.”

The Saiyans’ hearts sank, especially Katal's. She had watched Bulma work on that machine for months. The strides the scientist had made challenged her skepticism. It was remarkable how complex the project had been, and Bulma had jumped every hurdle. Now it was all for nothing.

“Well, it was a long shot, anyway” Trunks grumbled, angrier than he was letting on, “What’s the good news, then?”

“It’s still capable of traveling through time.”

Trunks pursed his lips, and Katal folded her arms. That wasn’t reassuring to her.

“What’s the point?” she said, “You said yourself that it wouldn’t change anything.”

“That doesn’t mean that it would be a wasted trip,” Bulma replied, “Think for a second. How close are you two to defeating the Androids right now?”

“We’re training like crazy!” Katal said.

“And how’s that going for you?”

Katal couldn’t bring herself to respond.

“I’ll take your silence as a negative. So hear me out here. If Trunks went back again, he can find someone who could help you,” said Bulma.

“And who would that be?”

“Goku, of course! If there’s anyone in the world who could destroy those things, it’d be him. And since you gave him the antidote, Trunks, he should be alive and well. You might not even have to fight.”

Katal curled her lip. She glared at Trunks, as if willing him to take her side, but he just stood there.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

Trunks sighed.

“Got any better ideas?” he said lowly.

Katal bit her tongue.

“Is it charged up?” he addressed the communicator.

“It’s ready when you are,” said Bulma.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Load it up.”

“You got it, kid.”

—

Tension riddled the air as Katal and Trunks flew back to Capsule. Hadn’t the half-saiyan berated her for doing exactly what he was doing now; throwing away everything they had worked for on hope?

“The only way to go is forward…What a joke.”

“Seeking Goku’s help is going forward,” Trunks snapped, overhearing her, “It’s the best course of action we have now. We might not be able to bring back those who are gone, but we still might be able to help the people left.”

“What about our training? Isn’t that helping?”

Trunks looked away.

“For now, but something could happen.”

“And going back in time somehow involves less risk?”

“It’s a calculated risk.”

As they approached the compound, Katal could make out the outline of the time machine with Bulma at its side on their front lawn. They landed with light thumps beside it.

“The coordinates are set for the date and location where the Androids first show up,” said Bulma, “If the antidote worked, you should be able to find Goku and the others there.” She held out a small dyno-cap to Trunks. “And here are your things.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

Katal's chest tightened. Without Trunks, all she could do was train alone or stew in the nightmares. She didn’t like the idea of him leaving her here, much less going back by himself. It was dangerous enough that he had done it once. What if he took on more trouble than he could handle? This world, this time, couldn’t afford to lose him. She couldn’t afford to lose him. The Saiyan examined the machine. It would be a bit of a tight squeeze.

“I’m going too,” she announced, causing Trunks to wheel around.

“Huh? No way! Out of the question.”

“Hey, you’re going back to the day the Androids show up. If you run into them, you can’t handle them on your own and you know it. And with the both of us, it’ll be easier to find Goku,” Katal retorted.

Trunks folded his arms.

“Even if I did let you go, which I won’t, we won’t fit in there together.”

“It’ll be snug, but you’ll fit alright.”

Both Katal and Trunks gaped at Bulma. A smirk broke out onto her face.

“I had a feeling Katal might want to go.” The scientist fumbled in her pocket, retrieving yet another dyno-cap. “So I packed her things too.”

“What?” Trunks exclaimed, “Mom, no! What about you? Who’s going to keep you safe?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bulma said reassuringly, “Besides, you two have a knack for keeping each other alive.”

“But—“ Trunks began.

“No buts, young man. I’m not going to lose my only son because he was too cocky to ask for help like his father.”

Bulma held out the capsule to Katal.

“Speaking of which, I’d like to have a word with you.”

Katal nodded, pocketing the container. Trunks opened his mouth in protest, then shut it again. Bulma took Katal aside.

“If you meet Vegeta, don’t antagonize him,” she said, “And don’t let Trunks get his hopes up about a grand family reunion. Vegeta can be a real jerk.”

“You think he’ll be there?” asked Katal.

“Of course he will. He wouldn’t miss a challenge like the Androids for the world. But I’m serious. I haven’t told Trunks everything about Vegeta. He’s had--he's had a hard life. Killed a lot of people."

“Working for that Freezer guy, yeah?”

“Not just when he worked for Frieza.”

Katal's face hardened.

“But there is good in him,” Bulma said, “I’ve seen it. I know he can be honorable, even if he won’t act like it.”

“Why are you telling me and not Trunks? He’s your son.”

“He has to find it out on his own. As for you—no offense, but you’re the hothead of the team here.”

Katal’s teeth clenched.

“I just don’t want you doing something that can get either of you hurt,” Bulma said firmly.

“He’d hurt his own kid?” Katal whispered incredulously.

“Vegeta won’t know Trunks is his son! Until he does, he’ll only see him as a threat. You need to be careful.”

Katal nodded. Bulma brought her voice back up to full volume.

“Just keep an eye on him, you got that?” she said, “Stick together.”

“Don’t worry,” said Katal, “I won’t let him run off.”

The scientist wrapped her arms around Trunks, holding him tight.

“I mean it. You be careful,” she murmured.

Trunks took a deep breath, hugging her back.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Bulma wiped her watery eyes on the sleeve of her jacket.

“This isn’t goodbye. This is good luck. You two had better come back whole.”

“We will,” said Katal and Trunks together, promptly shooting looks at one another.

The half-saiyan climbed into the machine first, a significantly lighter scowl on his face. Katal hopped up onto the top, her heart lifting with the promise of a new adventure.

“Thanks for everything, Bulma,” she called with a wave. _Truly._

With that, she maneuvered her way into the open space in the cockpit, garnering many curses from Trunks along the way.

“Careful, you’ll hit the slip navigator!"

“No I won’t! What even is that?!”

“I told you we wouldn’t fit.”

“Shut up and let me get on your shoulders.”

“AGH! Watch your tail!”

“Sor-ry!”

Bulma chuckled and waved as the glass cover slid over the Saiyans. Neither Katal nor Trunks could manage to wave back, with the former completely smothered against the dome and the latter practically immobilized beneath her. The Capsule heiress could still hear them quarreling, her message of “Hope!” on the hull leaving a small afterimage as the machine flickered out of sight.


	9. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon arriving in the past, Trunks discovers that history has changed for the worse. Katal tries valiantly to keep up with the tide, and meets a few new friends along the way.

Katal's face pressed against the glass. They had certainly moved. Through the fog her breath had created on the pane, she could make out a different environment. A shoreline, ocean, and a string of other islands.

“This is it,” said Trunks, “The coordinates match up.”

He retracted the glass top, much to Katal's relief. She jumped out, landing with a little thud on the shore. Trunks floated out, and clicked a small button on the hull. In a poof, the time machine vanished, leaving only a small capsule behind. Katal took a look around. The sand shifted beneath her feet, the salty ocean air hitting her face with a warm blast. Katal found it difficult to believe what she was seeing. The islands she knew down here were completely destroyed and deserted, but these were bustling with people and towns. This really was the past, free from the Androids’ tyranny. The sky itself seemed more exuberant, the sun shining that much brighter. A pang hit her chest. In this time, her family was still alive. The hairs on her tail bristled from the breeze, and she noticed the eerie dampness in her shoes from the pool twenty years in the future.

“The island that the Androids show up on is a little ways west of here,” said Trunks, throwing a different capsule to the ground.

Another poof. A watch and familiar broadsword appeared.

“Let’s get a few things straight first,” he said, slipping the watch around his wrist, “I am in charge here. So when I give you an order, you had better listen.”

Katal crossed her arms as her tail roped around her waist.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious! Our coming here will affect this timeline. We need to be careful what we say and do. In which case, I don’t want anyone knowing your name, your race, and for that matter, the fact that you are a Super Saiyan, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“What?” Katal said, affronted, “How in the world do you expect me to fight without becoming a Super Saiyan?”

“I’m pretty sure the Androids fall under ‘absolutely necessary.’”

“Oh,” Katal pursed her lips, “Right.”

“You’ll need to hide your tail,” he said, “The fighters that we’ll be meeting are more than familiar with the Saiyan race.”

Katal shifted uncomfortably, remembering the order from her childhood. Reluctantly, she acquired a coat and hair tie from her storage capsule and snaked her tail around her waist beneath her shirt. She then slipped on the jacket, which covered the rope-like form. With a swooping motion, she pushed back her hair, tying it in place. The half-saiyan slung the broadsword over his back.

“Now let’s get moving,” he said.

As they flew, Katal noticed Trunks’ deliberate attempts to avoid eye contact. Like any Saiyan descendant, Trunks had pride too. She knew that part of him wanted to take care of all of this on his own, to redeem his standing as a fighter in this war against the Androids. The resemblance felt uncanny. But both of them knew what was at stake. Whether they liked it or not, they had to work together. Up ahead, Katal could see smoke rising above the sea. Immediately, she stopped mid-flight to look upon an island, or what was left of one. Half of the town had been blown over, and the rest lay in rubble. No sirens sounded, though fires dotted the island.

“What a mess…” Trunks murmured, “It looks like we’re too late. We should have gone back a little further.”

“Then why don’t we?” asked Katal, “If the Androids already showed up, this whole trip is pointless.”

“It’s too risky now,” he growled, “The ship doesn’t have enough energy. We wouldn’t be able to make it home again; we’d be stranded in the past.”

Katal sighed. “Looks like we were meant to come back, then.”

“Man, I can’t believe that it’s already over. I thought Goku would make a difference against those monsters…”

Katal floated to his side. “At least you aren’t alone.”

Trunks smiled softly, the breeze catching his lavender hair.

“I suppose not.”

Suddenly, both Saiyans whipped their heads toward the mainland.

“Wait a second, I can feel some power levels over there,” Trunks said.

“I sense them too. They’re huge!”

“The fight must still be going on. Yes! It’s not too late. There’s still a chance!”

Immediately, he powered up, a white aura surrounding his body, and took off. Katal hurtled after him, a look of disbelief on her face. Both levels were as strong a Super Saiyan; maybe even stronger! One of them had to be this Goku character, she was sure of it. No one could have that kind of ki signature but a Saiyan. In her distraction, she didn’t expect to nearly crash into Trunks, who had, for some reason, skidded to a halt.

“Trunks, come on, we’ve got to hurry!”

“Look,” he pointed at the ground near what appeared to be a fresh, gigantic crater.

Katal descended to see a white head with a pink dome in place of its crown laying battered on the ground, clear pain etched on its pudgy features. Wires and metal jutted out from the bottom.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m—not sure.”

Yet Trunks was sure. It had to be an android. But that didn’t make any sense. There were only two of them. No way there could be more…could there? The two Saiyans stared at it for a moment, when a large blast made them jump.

“Looks like the party’s started without us,” said Katal.

In a flash, the two launched into the air in the direction of the battle. Katal’s eyes wandered to the demisaiyan, his lavender bangs obscuring some of his face. She didn’t have the intimate knowledge that he did of these past events. The fact that he was surprised couldn’t be a good sign. Or he wasn’t telling her something.

“Something’s wrong,” she shouted over the wind.

“I know,” he called back, “You didn’t recognize that thing back there either?”

“No,” Katal replied. “But are you positive that Dr. Gero didn’t make more Androids in our time? He would have activated them if he had, wouldn’t he?”

“I’m almost sure of it.”

Katal didn’t like the sound of that, but for now, she would have to take that as a positive. They were too close to the battle, and she wanted to find out who was generating this kind of energy. She didn’t have to wait long. Up ahead, five curious-looking figures floated in the air: A green man with pointed ears, sporting a power level on par with her own; a tall, muscular bald man with a third eye, accompanied by a shorter, also hairless one; a small boy with black hair like hers, who looked rather out of place, and a regal looking Super Saiyan with an incredibly prominent widow’s peak. Though the Saiyan was not much taller than she, he stood in the air as if he were twenty feet high. Katal shrunk back slightly. Besides Trunks, she’d never felt anyone more powerful than herself, and had never come in contact with someone else from her race.

“Trunks is back!” exclaimed the green one. “Wait, who’s that with him?”

Katal could only assume he meant her. She tried to get Trunks’ attention, but his gaze had fixed on another figure in the midst of the rocks. It looked like a curmudgeonly old man, with a long sheet of white hair going down its back, a white mustache, and a blue dome atop its head. And those eyes…

“Yeah, even though I’ve never seen him before, I can tell that he’s Dr. Gero’s,” Trunks growled.

“Say what?” Vegeta interjected roughly, glaring at Trunks, “What do you mean you haven’t seen him before? Isn’t he one of the Androids you warned us about?”

“No, this one’s different.”

“What?” said Piccolo, forgetting the stranger, “How could he be different?”

Katal's tail tightened. So they weren’t familiar with this one either.

“No!” shouted Vegeta, “Nonsense! If that’s not the Android you warned us about than who is it?”

Trunks stared at the machine, at a loss.

“Hey Vegeta, cut the kid a little slack, would ya?” said Krillin, “We’ve got bigger problems right now.”

That’s Vegeta? Katal thought, But what about—

The sound of a jet engine broke her train of thought. Katal turned around to see the a plane bearing the Capsule insignia. Who in the world would go toward a scene like this? She gasped in shock when she saw a younger version of the blue-haired genius that had sent them off waving cheerfully out the window of the plane, as if dropping in on a picnic, accompanied by a tubby looking fellow in the passenger seat. Trunks looked up, and his eyes widened with terror. Suddenly, the grating voice of the old Android cut through the air.

“Enjoy this short lived victory while you are able; for soon I will unleash Androids Seventeen and Eighteen to destroy you all!”

A chill ran up Trunks’ spine. It was as he had feared. There were more of them. In a fit of cruel cackles, the decrepit looking Android unleashed a violent blast, coating the landscape in vivid magenta. Rocks and smoke flew in all directions, encasing Katal and the other warriors in a maelstrom of debris. She could hear the jet whizzing out of control. On instinct, she rocketed towards the twisting plane, but Trunks had already gotten there. The half-saiyan snatched Bulma from the cockpit, who, to Katal's horror, was clutching a baby. While Trunks had them covered, Katal hoisted out the much heftier passenger, who squirmed like a freshly caught trout. Quickly, the Saiyans flew away from the blast together, taking the trio to safety. The jet, on the other hand, was not so fortunate, landing with a resounding crash in the middle of the rocky canyon. Katal deposited her heavy load of a man onto an outcropping, while Trunks landed not too far away. The younger Bulma was sputtering, looking frantic, before she retrieved the crying child from Trunks’ left arm.

“Oh thank you!” Bulma said gratefully to the half-saiyan, “You saved Trunks.”

Katal's eyes bulged. That baby is—

“IMPOSSIBLE!” Vegeta’s voice echoed through the canyon. “Blast it! Where’d he go?”

A contemptuous scowl spread onto Trunks’ face. Katal had never seen him look at anyone like that.

“YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY FROM ME, ANDROID!” Vegeta roared into the distance.

Furious, the half-saiyan launched into the air, coming to a stop directly in front of the Super Saiyan.

“Hey, why didn’t you try to save them, Vegeta?”

“Who?” the Super Saiyan grunted.

“Who?! Bulma and your son!”

“Oh, them,” Vegeta grumbled, “I have more important things to worry about than that foolish woman and her blasted child! Out of my way!”

The spiky-haired Saiyan sped toward the ground, nearly barreling through Trunks. Katal would have gone after him had she not felt a small tug on her jacket. She turned to see that scruffy-haired boy standing next to the man she’d dropped, looking at her with kind, coal black eyes.

“Hey, you saved Yajirobe!” said the boy.

“Uh—“  Katal glanced at the fat, trembling man. “No problem, kid.”

“You must be a fighter like Trunks.”

Katal knew she was supposed to keep her strength under wraps, but she figured there was no harm in telling him that much.

“I am.”

“Wow! Are you from the future too?”

“Yeah…can’t say much more than that though.”

“Oh, well, my name’s Gohan,” the boy chirped.

Katal froze. _The_ Gohan?

“I don’t know if Trunks told you about everyone, but you probably should know. The guy in the green outfit is Tien. Over there’s Krillin. Vegeta’s the angry one. Then there’s Piccolo,” He gestured to the green man. “He’s from another planet, Namek.”

Katal couldn’t help but grin. He was just as kind as Trunks described, if a little too trusting.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

“Er—“

Katal hesitated, remembering Trunks’ orders.

“HEY!” Krillin’s shouted, fortuitously stalling Gohan’s question, “Bulma says the Android is really Dr. Gero!”

The fighters convened in a circle around Bulma, eager to discuss this new development. Naturally, Vegeta jumped in to confront the blue-haired genius, which resulted in an argument between the two. At the news, Katal couldn’t help but feel disgusted. Not only did that madman build cold machines of destruction and chaos, he had become one himself. This was all so surreal. Trunks had saved a younger version of himself, and his old master was standing right next to her. She hadn’t expected time travel to be quite so jarring. Despite the commotion, Trunks’ eyes did not leave the ground.

"The timeline as I know it must have shifted when I travelled here from the future,” he mused, “Argh. I was afraid that this might happen, but it was a calculated risk that I had to take.”

Katal could not suppress an irritated grunt, earning herself a vicious glare from Trunks.

“Dr. Gero mentioned two more Androids on the way,” Piccolo interrupted, “They could be the ones you told us about the last time you were here. But this time, I think it would be a good idea for you to tell us what they look like. We don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

As Trunks described them—their cold, ruthless forms—Katal felt that familiar sinking feeling. Just thinking about them, especially the cold, lifeless eyes that Trunks insisted upon highlighting, made her stomach churn. Even the energy absorbing models that Piccolo mentioned paled in comparison to her memories of the eternally powerful Androids from her time.

“WHAT?!” Vegeta shouted, “That’s preposterous! They have to run out of energy sometime!”

This time, Katal could not stop herself from interjecting.

“Hey, pineapple head, shut up and listen. You have no idea what your dealing with.”

Seven pairs of eyes instantly locked on Katal, prompting her tail to constrict beneath her jacket. The Saiyan prince stepped forward, his turquoise eyes flashing dangerously.

“You don’t seem to have much of a clue of who you’re dealing with either.”

Katal drew herself up to her full height, squaring off with the Saiyan prince. She examined her challenger. Though he had similar facial features to his half-saiyan son, his condescending scowl warped them. Confidence, mingled with a biting anger, radiated from his Super Saiyan aura, a cocktail that a lesser warrior would be wise to fear. But Katal stood firm, her gaze marking his features. Bulma had warned Katal about his temper. Why not put it to the test?

“The Prince of all Saiyans, isn’t it?” she said.

Vegeta leaned back.

“That’s right.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Katal said with a smirk, “And I’m not impressed.”

The prince’s face contorted with rage.

“That’s enough,” Trunks ordered, his face as hard as stone as he pushed himself between the two.

“I would like to know who this little whelp thinks she is!” said Vegeta gruffly. “What is she even doing here in the first place?”

“We’ve got more important things to deal with, Vegeta,” Bulma cut in, “If this young man’s prediction changed, we’ve lost whatever clues we had to begin with, and we’re all going to have to adjust.”

“I’ve got a score to settle with the Androids,” Katal said coldly, ignoring Bulma.

Vegeta threw his head back and cackled, causing Katal to turn a very vivid shade of red.

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re a Saiyan next? Some long lost child that shows up out of nowhere?” he taunted, “Wait, even better, a Super Saiyan!”  
Katal looked desperately to Trunks, who shook his head.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Katal bit back at the prince, “But speaking of Super Saiyans, where’s Goku?”

“Hey yeah,” Trunks said, grateful to diffuse the tension, “Why isn’t he here?”

“He came down with that weird heart virus,” said Krillin, “He went home to get the antidote that you gave him. I thought you knew.”

The look on Trunks’ face begged to differ.

“WAAH! HOW DARE YOU VEGETA! Every time you stick your geeky little face in front of Trunks you make him cry!”

The group’s attention turned to Bulma, who held a crying baby Trunks in ront of his bemused father.

“Bulma, will you forget about the child for one minute?” Vegeta snapped, “Do you know where Dr. Gero’s lab is?”

Everyone visibly relaxed. Katal sniggered, making the older Trunks blush violently.

“Now that you mention it, I remember reading that Dr. Gero’s lab was hidden in a cave somewhere just outside North City,” Bulma said.

“I’ll bet it’s too late to follow him there,” said Krillin, “He’s probably long gone.”

“Maybe not,” Vegeta said with a cocky grin, “Nobody saw him fly away, did they? The Android is trying to escape on foot. Which means he probably hasn’t gotten very far.”

“If that’s the case, then we might just have a chance to find this lab and destroy the other two Androids before Gero even gets there,” said Piccolo.

“Ha. I would never do anything that cowardly,” said Vegeta, “Only one course of action could possibly satisfy me. I will fight these Androids face to face, and I’ll break them with my bare hands.”

The Saiyan’s aura flared as he prepared for take-off.

“NO!” Trunks shouted, blocking his path, “You must never underestimate the power of these Androids. If you really want to destroy them, we have to do this Piccolo’s way!”

Vegeta and Trunks stared angrily at one another, gazes locked in a battle of wills, before the Saiyan prince flew straight up and over the blockade. Katal clenched her teeth. That did it. Vegeta was going to get a piece of her mind, whether Trunks liked it or not. He was strong, sure—easily more powerful than either her or Trunks—but he wasn’t invincible. Quickly, she swooped in front of the prince.

“Listen to him! You won’t be able to handle the Androids by yourself.”

“We have to wait for Goku!” Trunks snapped.

“I will only say this once,” Vegeta snarled, “I do not have to wait for Kakarot. I am a Super Saiyan now, and am a lot stronger than you or that pathetic fool could ever dream of becoming! Now out of my way!”

Katal cocked her head, a little nonplussed. Kakarot? She went to retort, but Vegeta had already seized his opening and begun hurtling north. Katal went to round on the half-saiyan, who, to her immense annoyance, was already hot on Vegeta’s tail.

“Well,” Vegeta said, noticing Trunks closing in, “You think you can keep up, boy? Let’s see!”  
Vegeta flashed, increasing his speed exponentially. Trunks growled and burst into Super Saiyan, shooting after his father. If it was a race Vegeta wanted; a race he’d get. Together they skidded over the ocean, spraying foam as they started their chase. Katal wasn’t too far behind with her advantage in speed. As soon as Trunks changed, however, she was quickly left in the dust. She groaned, knowing she couldn’t transform. It took far too much energy, and she needed the stamina for the inevitable fight to come.

“Ugh, boys,” she muttered, powering up to the threshold.

Her aura flared and she sped off, savoring the promise of putting Vegeta in his place.

Trunks’ blood boiled as he flew at his father’s heels. His mother had told him about Vegeta’s proud attitude, so it should have come as no surprise to him that the Saiyan wouldn’t care enough to save his wife and child. Still, knowing that didn’t make him any less angry. Vegeta had no idea, not one iota of the challenge he would face with the Androids, and yet he had laughed it off like it was some kind of game. He was so darn stubborn, and his blinding arrogance could easily get him killed.

Trunks flared his aura. He would not allow his father to die in this time too.

The two had since dropped their power levels back down to normal, as they were now entering the mountainous region outside of North City. The frigid air cut through Trunks’ jacket like a knife, but he didn’t betray an ounce of discomfort.

Occasionally, he would see Vegeta glance over his shoulder, observing his actions. Maybe he was sizing him up.

“Would you stop following me, boy? You’re getting on my nerves,” Vegeta barked.

Apparently not.

Trunks noticed a ki signature approaching from behind. He craned his neck to see Katal flying toward him, an evident scowl on her features.

“Tried to leave me behind, did you? Man, when I get my hands on that cocky son of a—“

“He’ll beat you into the dirt,” Trunks said, a little more maliciously than he had intended.

Katal grit her teeth. First the Androids, then Vegeta, and now Trunks had all brushed her strength aside in one form or another. She had just as much power and and just as much at stake here.

“I could take him!”

Vegeta overheard her, and broke into a chuckle.

“Foolish wench. You’re nothing.”

Katal was about to let a string of curses fly at the Saiyan prince when all of a sudden, a power level shot up.

“What’s going on?” Trunks asked.

“That’s the little guy,” Katal said, letting Vegeta’s comment slide, “Krillin. He’s probably found Gero!”

All three immediately flew in the direction of the signal; Vegeta bringing up the front. Soon enough, they saw three warriors (Gohan noticeably absent) shooting down toward a hole in the mountain. Rapidly, the Saiyans followed suit. When they landed, Piccolo was standing firmly in front of a large set of metal doors. Katal decided to male a mental note of the location. Just knowing this spot alone might help them destroy the Androids.

Piccolo slowly raised his arm and gathered a blast in his palm, aiming at the doors.

“Hurry up, Namek, but don’t destroy the Androids before I get a chance to fight them!” said Vegeta.

“Piccolo, don’t listen to him! He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Trunks yelled.

“BE QUIET!” Vegeta roared.

Before Piccolo could finish charging his attack, Gero’s muffled voice echoed from inside the chamber. All gathered at the door, save Vegeta, reeled backward. Katal and Trunks mechanically dropped into their stances, but Vegeta merely extended his arm.

“Get out of my way, you idiots.”

In a flash of blue light, Vegeta sent a blast straight through the fortified entrance. The doors crashed to the ground, veiling the area in a screen of smoke. No one spoke. No one breathed. There they were, Seventeen and Eighteen in all of their malice and cruelty, standing together, next to Dr. Gero himself. They looked exactly as they had in the future, albeit with different clothes and less wear.

“Well, well, what have we here that has you all so nervous?” Vegeta sneered, “I take it these are the scary Androids we’ve heard so much about.”

“That’s them,” said Trunks miserably.

“Well,” said Dr. Gero, “Goku’s friends are very determined to stop us. But they will not. We will destroy them, just as they destroyed Android 19.”

The Androids talked back and forth about the fallen machine, which was soon revealed as the severed head she had seen on the way here. She watched them carefully, especially Gero, who seemed to grow angrier and angrier. It soon became clear that these Androids had no intention of following orders.

“I really wish that you had not smashed that controller!” the scientist barked.

Katal's gaze flickered to the piece of destroyed metal on the ground.

“Yes, that’s too bad, isn’t it?” said Eighteen, stepping onto its remains, “Planning to use it for spare parts?”

The blonde Android had strolled to the side of what appeared to be a futuristic coffin. By this time, Gero was sweating bullets. Katal's eyes widened. No, it couldn’t be.

“You stay away from there!” Gero commanded, “Do not open that chamber! I order you to stay away from Android 16!”

Trunks’ and Katal's jaws hung agape, crushing fear overtaking them. The worst had happened. Katal's knuckles turned whiter than snow. Gero sounded almost pitiful now, uttering cries of ‘I am your creator’ and ‘You will regret it,’ before finally, the Androids had had enough. In a lightning fast movement, Seventeen ran his arm through Gero’s stomach. And then, with a lithe kick, the Android severed Dr. Gero’s head from his body. It bounced to the entrance of the lab, where the dark-haired machine promptly crushed it into the ground. Trunks could hardly manage to stop from attacking right then and there.  With a smirk, Seventeen raised a lazy hand, motioning for Krillin, of all people, to come forward. Trunks, meanwhile, had not taken his gaze off of Eighteen, who was waiting patiently beside the third casket.

“She’s going to do it,” Katal hissed, “She’s going to release him.”

A glow surrounded her body. Seventeen’s icy eyes shifted to her, much to the bald warrior’s relief.

“Oh, this is curious,” said the Android, the grin broadening on his face. “I think this one doesn’t like the idea of us very much. Eighteen, why don’t you open the chamber to put her at ease?”

Before she could stop herself, Katal was screaming, her tail lashing out from beneath her clothes. She would not, could not, stand idly by as the threat of another Android walking this Earth loomed before her, Trunks’ orders be damned.

The Saiyan burst into a flurry of golden light, whipping her arms forward with a harrowing battle cry. Before the circle of fighters could process what was happening, Trunks had rallied beside her, charging his own blast in his hands. There was a colossal explosion. Light flooded the landscape as fighters whizzed from the debris in all directions, barely escaping the blast zone. The entire mountainside cracked apart, scattering wildly across the sky. The Z fighters watched as the remains of Dr. Gero’s lab smoldered under a gigantic plume of smoke. As soon as the last rock fell, their gazes honed in on Katal. None were more shocked and annoyed than Trunks.

“Like you said,” she said, “Absolutely necessary.”


	10. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the time travelers’ horror, the Androids in the present turn out to be exponentially more powerful than the ones from the future. Katal grows more and more irritated at her negligible impact on unfolding events, and finds out just how much she would do to keep her half-saiyan counterpart alive.

The half-saiyan glanced back to see the four Z fighters staring at Katal (rather, her tail, which had since wrapped around her midsection), either appearing monumentally terrified, surprised, or angry. He’d never seen her generate power like that for an attack. Surely the Androids would have been at least injured. Katal, meanwhile, had not taken her sights off of the ruins, scouring the landscape for signs of the machines.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Krillin exclaimed, “She’s a Super Saiyan too?! Can someone tell me what in the world is going on?”

Vegeta gaped at the girl. His mind may have played tricks on him in the cave, making her appear gold in the dim light. Yes, it had to be a ruse. No mere woman, and certainly not that woman could have ascended to the legendary. He was, however, sure of one thing. While the girl’s hair had since faded back to black, the brown, bristly tail was unmistakable.

“You,” he pointed at Katal. “Saiyan. Explain yourself at once!”

“I told you before, I don’t have to answer to you,” Katal said, her eyes unwavering.

“Like hell you don’t!” Vegeta shouted.

Katal ignored him.  Vegeta could wait. Those Androids would not get away if she could help it.

“Wench!” Vegeta roared, “Answer me before I come over there and beat it out of you!”

“Hang on, I’d like an explanation too,” added Tien, “This changes things up.”

“You’ll have to get it later, we’ve got bigger trouble,” Piccolo interjected suddenly, “Look! On that ridge!”

The warriors snapped their necks toward where Piccolo was pointing, and sure enough, in the distance, the blonde and dark-haired Androids stood nonchalantly atop the rocky cliff. And, to Katal and Trunks’ horror, they still possessed the third Android’s chamber. Eighteen tossed the casket leisurely to the ground.

Katal boiled with rage. Everything she had, she had put into that attack. Not even a scratch. Trunks shuddered, feeling that overpowering fear again. Not even ruffled? How was that possible? The Androids he knew were strong, but this was ridiculous. He could at least tear their clothes when he fought them before. Something wasn’t right here. While the rest of the fighters tensed, Vegeta visibly relaxed.

“How foolish of me. I thought I was dealing with a Super Saiyan,” Vegeta sneered, “But I guess you’re just like the boy. A weakling.” He drew himself up to a proud stance, glancing at the purple-haired hybrid. “And never send a weakling to do a true Saiyan’s job.”

Trunks clenched his jaw, indignant fury raging through him. Android Eighteen bent down and clicked a button on the side of the chamber. In a puff of steam, the lid slid open and the blonde kicked it to the ground.

“Oh no, they did it,” Krillin squeaked, “Great, now we’ll have to fight another one!”

Even from a distance, Katal could see a great hulk of a machine in lime-green and black battle armor with a fiery red mohawk. Slowly but surely, it climbed out of the casket and  stood in front of the other two Androids, towering at least three feet taller than either one.

How could we have missed this Android too? thought Trunks miserably, This is insane.

He readied to attack, but to his surprise, all three machines took to the air, slowly flying away. The other fighters murmured to themselves.

“Should we—follow them?” asked Tien.

“Oh no,” the little bald warrior suddenly cried, “They’ve gone after Goku!”

Katal wheeled around.

“Yeah,” Krillin breathed, “Dr. Gero’s goal was to get back at Goku for destroying his Red Ribbon Army.”

_A grudge?_ Katal thought, livid, _That’s what these things were made for?_

“But do you think those Androids will still follow Dr. Gero’s orders now?” asked Tien.

Vegeta’s brow furrowed beneath his black widow’s peak.

“I don’t care where they went. I’ll track them down myself!”

Trunks let out a groan. Not this again…

“They’re cowards,” Vegeta continued, “They left because they were afraid of me. And they should be!”

With that, Vegeta went Super Saiyan, but Trunks was ready this time. He leapt in front of the arrogant prince.

“No, stop!” he shouted, “Stay here, don’t go after them!”

"You expect me to wait for Kakarot?” Vegeta scoffed. “Sure! Let’s wait for Kakarot. I mean wouldn’t it be easier if we all just joined up with the Androids instead? He’s history. Now get out of my way before you get hurt.”

Katal clenched her fists. Trunks tried to stop them both, repeating his tired warning as loudly as he could. The next thing he knew, pain exploded in his midsection, a glowing fist buried inside.

“NOW STAY OUT OF MY WAY!” Vegeta shouted, shooting at full speed after the Androids.

Instinctively, Katal hurried to Trunks’ side.

“I’m…alright,” he gasped, clutching at his stomach. “Someone…has to go after him.”

Katal had no idea how Trunks could still care about his father after the things he had just said and done. Still, she did not need to be told twice. With a nod, she rocketed after the Saiyan Prince. Trunks wanted him stopped so he wouldn’t perish as he did in their timeline. If that meant shooting him down, Katal was all too eager to oblige the request. As she travelled across the landscape, seeing the destroyed plateaus Vegeta had left in his wake, she wondered what triggered her so much. She had hated him from the moment he’d opened his big mouth. Was it just his rampant arrogance? Or was it an inherent discord between Saiyans? She quickly dismissed the first, figuring that one trait wasn’t enough to diminish another pureblooded Saiyan in her mind. The second, she only pondered for a moment.  Maybe it was his strength. Whether Katal wanted to admit it or not, Vegeta easily outclassed both her and her mentor. He had a much better handle on the Super Saiyan state, and just from the way he moved, she could tell that he fought masterfully. But he would waste all of his power to prove a point. Yes, that had to be it.

She remembered the conflicts she had with Trunks that seemed to come out of nowhere; the arguments over little, silly things. But they were past that now. They worked as a team, differences aside, and had become close friends because of it. And, through all of their disagreements, she had never hated him. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had swum with him in the quiet pool by the hills before the West City attack. Yet in reality, it was a lifetime away. That moment had never left her, when her chest had felt a warmth beneath the surface of the water……What the hell was she doing? She needed to stop Vegeta, not go off on a reminiscent tangent.

As if on cue, she did find the hotheaded prince, locked in battle with a certain blonde Android on a cliffside highway, while the other two stood nonchalantly on the sidelines. It appeared that they had no intention of joining in. Katal banked in. Either Vegeta was incredibly stupid for going head to head, or incredibly tactical for isolating one of them. She did not dare enter the fight with the other two Androids standing so close, so she settled for a light landing on the road. The machines turned to examine the new challenger.

“You again,” said Seventeen, “Your hair’s different.”

Katal bit down hard. Even their voices revolted her.

“Hn,” a noncommittal grunt from the Android, “So you came to help Vegeta?”

Katal remained silent.

“I hope you know that if you try, I’ll have to join in.”

She expected nothing less. In the corner of her eye, she could see Vegeta and the Android speed away over the cliff.

Katal closed her eyes and concentrated on the Saiyan’s energy. It fluctuated, but remained strong. Eighteen must have not gone on the offensive yet. He should have been much more battle damaged. Either that, or Vegeta was stronger than she gave him credit for. Soon enough, his energy came closer and closer. Katal's eyes flickered open to Vegeta and the female Android thudding onto the stretch of highway before her. Seventeen smirked as Vegeta raised his arm, taking aim at the female Android. Out of nowhere, a truck swerved around the corner, coming to a screeching halt behind Eighteen.

“Leave the human,” said Seventeen, noticing the vehicle and tracking Katal’s reaction.

Katal looked away. It wouldn’t be pretty to watch Vegeta slaughter an innocent man. But if Trunks wanted Vegeta alive, she could not step in without Seventeen coming after her. With both her and Vegeta dead, the whole world would suffer again.

“Damn it, Trunks,” she whispered.

With a crash, Vegeta decimated the truck and the highway beneath it in a haze of golden light.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” said the dark-haired Android, watching the cloud of brown smoke engulf the landscape, “Destruction.”

Soon enough, Android Eighteen descended behind Vegeta. Katal laughed ruefully, mostly to herself. Of course he had missed.

Vegeta turned around to face his adversary. They stood, unmoving for a moment. Katal could hear Vegeta spouting off as usual, though it only added to the dread forming inside. Without a doubt, Vegeta was stronger than she or Trunks, and this Android appeared to be toying with him. So far, Katal didn’t see a hair out of place on Eighteen’s head. The Saiyan prince heaved forward at supersonic speed, clearly agitated, ready to throw a power punch. Instead, he found himself stopped inches from the deadly beauty, a knee buried in his solar plexus. Katal blinked. She hadn’t even seen the Android flinch, and now Vegeta looked completely immobile. With a flourish, Eighteen effortlessly slammed the Saiyan headlong into the cliff, the clatter echoing through the surrounding canyons. Something was off here. The Androids she knew were fast, but not that fast. Suddenly, she noticed a few power levels approaching. Trunks and the others! They flew up and over the cliff, landing behind Eighteen.

“Are you okay in there, Vegeta?” Trunks called.

“Of course I am,” came the muffled voice of the Saiyan prince, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Vegeta stepped out from the hole in the cliff, relatively unscathed, glaring at the blonde Android.

“You’re alright,” said Trunks, his eyes brightening.

“Of course,” Vegeta chuckled, “That was just a lucky punch.”

His smirk quickly faded to a grimace.

“What are you doing here? I told you that I don’t need your help. And I don’t want it either.”

“Look at that,” said Seventeen. He gestured to the taller, bulkier machine. “Whaddya say Sixteen, are you up for a fight?”

“No,” said the tall machine, his voice more robotic than the others, “I will not fight them.”

Katal’s mouth dropped open.

“I told you,” said Sixteen, “I will only fight with Goku.”

“Alright,” Seventeen shrugged, beginning to walk toward the warriors, “Have it your way, pal. But I suggest you loosen up before you rust.”

Katal stepped in front of him.

“We had an agreement, Android.”

“Relax, Saiyan,” said Seventeen, “I’m only going to fight if your friends do. Unless you insist on skipping negotiations?”

Katal's eyes narrowed. The Androids in her time would not have ever given her this much leeway. Either these models lied more adeptly, or their programming was different. In fact, many things were different. Either way, she did not have much of a choice. Grudgingly, she moved aside. Trunks had been watching her exchange as Katal landed beside him. His heart lifted at seeing her unharmed. Katal gave an affirmative shake of her head, albeit a small one.

“It’s time to get out of here,” he said, his glance shifting between the approaching Android and his father, “We should leave now and come back when Goku is better, then we’ll fight them.”

“What is wrong with you?” Vegeta snarled, “Run away? I’m staying.”

“You should listen to your friend,” said Eighteen, “He’s the one that will have to clean you off the highway.”

“Are you kidding me? You want me to leave now when we’re just getting to know each other? You should be so lucky. I fight alone. I don’t need the help of anyone, and that includes these four, and most of all Kakarot! I am the most powerful Saiyan who has ever lived. I fear no one! Especially not this Android.”

A slow clap broke the air, causing all of the warriors to turn.

“Beautiful speech,” said Seventeen.

“Stay out of this one, Android. I’ll deal with you soon enough. Once I’m finished with her,” Vegeta cocked his head towards the blonde.

“Hn,” grunted Seventeen, “Not like she needs my help.”

Lithely, Eighteen launched forward, slamming a fist into Vegeta’s cheek, sending him flying into the air. Vegeta did not take long to recover. As Eighteen hurtled up to meet him, he crushed both fists down onto her back. The Android slammed into a nearby cliffside, spewing rocks and debris. The Saiyan prepared a large ball of ki in an outstretched hand, shooting it down at the Android. She momentarily vanished in a blast of light and smoke, but Vegeta wasn’t fooled. He sped down into the debris, to see Eighteen standing firmly, clothes torn, to challenge him.

Trunks and Katal watched with bated breath as Vegeta spewed more hot air at the blonde Android. Nonetheless, they were impressed. Having both been on the receiving end of an Android’s punch, they knew how hardy one had to be to withstand them. They exchanged a quick look, and turned their attention back to the fight. Apparently, Eighteen had said something to irk the Saiyan prince, as he had aimed a powerful kick at her head. She deflected it with her forearm, and they were off again, exchanging blows almost too fast for the sideliners to follow. Katal and Trunks both watched Vegeta, entranced at his ability to keep up. He truly was strong, fighting Eighteen one on one.

“He’s done for, he can’t win.”

All eyes shifted to the Namekian in surprise. Vegeta continued bludgeoning the Android. Katal squinted, trying to see through the smoke.

“Every move takes it’s toll,” said Piccolo gravely, “Vegeta is getting weaker while the Android still stays strong.”

Suddenly, Eighteen began to attack. It was like a light switch. Each effortless punch slammed into Vegeta like a ton of bricks. It did not take long before she was batting him around like nothing.

“No…” Trunks snarled, “Stop!”  

They saw Vegeta slumped against a rock, seething with rage as Android Eighteen walked leisurely toward him. A gruesome feeling brewed in the pit of Katal's stomach. What if Vegeta failed? That would mean that the Androids were stronger than she had feared. If Vegeta, the self-proclaimed strongest fighter alive, couldn’t even handle one of them, how in the world would they be able to destroy all three? Vegeta sped forward, but Eighteen dematerialized before he could land his hit. As soon as Katal blinked, she heard a resounding crack and a chilling cry of pain. Vegeta howled and fell to his knees, clutching his now limp left arm. Broken.

“FATHER!”

To Katal's horror, Trunks burst into Super Saiyan, unsheathing his broadsword and lunging toward the Android. Sure enough, Seventeen had taken his cue and hurtled after the now golden-haired hybrid. Katal's heart raced. Now or never. The Androids had taken her family, and now Trunks was headed right into the gauntlet. She roared, flashing gold, her hair lighting up like wildfire as she swooped after him. 

Trunks swung his sword down with all his might onto Eighteen, who casually raised her arm to block. Trunks gaped as the metal shattered on her arm, the sword cracking like a spider’s web. A wind caught his ear, and before he could turn, Seventeen brought down a hammer first onto his back; a very hard hammer fist. Trunks’ breath left him, and he crashed into the ground. Katal, eyes widening with fury, pulled back a fist to maul Seventeen. The Android lifted a lazy hand, stopping her strike cold. She growled and brought around a knee into Seventeen’s arm. Her kick garnered little more than a light grunt, and his arm dropped momentarily. But suddenly, unimaginable pain shot through her left oblique. In all her life, she had never, never been hit that hard. With a wail, she fell to a knee. Trunks grimaced, seeing his friend fall in the corner of his eye.

In her daze, Katal could make out Piccolo, whom Seventeen soon made short work of before putting Tien in a headlock. Vegeta tried to fly up and meet him, only to have Eighteen latch onto his ankle. Trunks ratcheted himself up, and angrily flew towards the female Android.

“No, don’t!” Vegeta snapped.

Like a baseball bat, Android Eighteen swung Vegeta around. Almost instantly, the world faded to black as Vegeta’s body collided directly with the half-saiyan’s skull. 

“Trunks!” Katal rasped, forcing herself to run at the female machine. 

Effortlessly, the Android threw a graceful punch, crushing Katal's solar plexus. Katal fell to the ground, openmouthed, watching helplessly as Trunks faded back to normal form. As much as she wanted to go to him, she couldn’t move an inch. She couldn’t even call his name, the pain was so great. The golden aura slowly left her, her hair returning to its natural raven hue. Back in the air, she saw Seventeen drop the cyclops, letting the man fall limply to the earth. Piccolo lay in a heap nearby. Trunks was out. Up on the cliff, there was still Krillin, trembling like a scared puppy. They were done for. She doubted now that even Goku would do much good. How much stronger could he be than she, Trunks or Vegeta? She had never met him, and now likely never would. Maybe he had even died of the heart virus already. Hopelessness engulfed her. The world’s strongest warriors, each down for the count after barely putting up a fight; the savior she and Trunks had been looking for missing in action. She hadn’t expected traveling through time to be a smooth-sailing excursion, but so far, it had only brought on more bad news. Even if she or her mentor somehow survived this, they still had no leads on destroying the Androids. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. She was supposed to surmount this; for Trunks, for her family. Katal curled into a ball, both arms clutching at her gut, her tail wrapping around her knees as the world slowly disappeared with Vegeta’s continued cries of pain.

How she could even still maintain consciousness, she had no idea. She forced herself to look up. Miraculously, she could still see the terrified Krillin alive and unharmed in front of the Androids. At least, that’s what she thought she saw. She was just so dizzy. For a while, the machines seemed to just stand there, likely debating on which direction they could go to find Goku. Nonetheless, she saw Krillin try to persuade them otherwise, yelling something about how Goku was sick and therefore not a challenge. This didn’t seem to rattle them much. Suddenly, Eighteen stepped forward, approaching the little bald warrior. In vain, Katal tried to call out for him to run, but no sound came out. She clenched her teeth. And then she saw something. Maybe it was the incalculable amount of pain coursing through her, or the jarring pounding of her heart in her ears throwing her off balance. It wasn’t possible. Against her will, her world disappeared, the image a distant memory.  
Soon enough, she came to, feeling the familiar crunch and rush of a healing Sensu bean. The side Seventeen had impacted tingled with fresh energy, the pain instantly subsiding.  She opened her eyes, and saw a shiny head obscuring the sun.

“Krillin?”

“That’s the name.”

Katal slowly sat up.

“I thought you were a goner. Android Eighteen was headed right for you.”

“Well, uh, they decided I wasn’t much of a threat,” he said, a little too quickly.

Katal rubbed her temple, trying to clear her dizziness.

“Where’s—“

Her head whipped around to see Trunks kneeling next to her, alive and well. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“No thanks to you,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her face.

Trunks’ cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“That was our last bean,” Krillin said, “But man, having an extra Super Saiyan on our side is sure worth the risk.”

Katal clenched her fists. Though she was grateful for the restorative Sensu (and the subsequent power increase), she found hatred for it too. Every time she couldn’t rise to a challenge, someone else had to come and rescue her. 

“You should have kept it,” she said, getting to her feet, “I went down in two punches.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. That’s the Androids’ job.”

Katal shot him a look.

“I’ll just—leave you guys alone,” he sputtered, scuttling quickly to join the others. Everyone was standing now, cracking their necks or rolling out shoulder sockets. Vegeta stood in the center, looking up at the sky, his anger radiating from him. 

“Krillin’s right you know,” said Trunks, diverting her attention, “It only took a couple punches to take me out too.”

“It doesn’t add up,” Katal said, “I could last a good few minutes against them even before I could transform into Super Saiyan back home.”

“You don’t think Gero could have made these even more powerful?” Trunks said, alarmed.

“Got a better explanation?”

A gale suddenly began to kick up, and the fighters turned to see Vegeta shooting up like a cork into the sky. Trunks scowled and started to power up. What would it take to get through to him?

“Trunks, let him go,” Piccolo ordered.

Trunks looked over his shoulder. Reluctantly, he reduced his ki, letting it fall to resting state.

“Ever since Vegeta became a Super Saiyan, his ego has been out of control,” Piccolo said. Katal had to suppress a snort. “Honestly, I think what that Android hurt the most today was his pride,” the Namek continued, “He is very ashamed of his defeat.”

All of the fighters shared the sentiment. With the Androids incredible strength, which Trunks crystallized as a newer development than they all would have liked, they came to the conclusion that fighting was out of the question for now. Piccolo reacted poorly to this, shooting off toward the sky with wrath in his eyes. Katal and Trunks looked at one another, nonplussed, as Krillin tried to explain the Namekian’s behavior. He spoke of a creature by the name of Kami, a symbiotic outer form of Piccolo’s. If the two fused, they could possess incredible power. But both Nameks had a connection to the Dragonballs, and their unification would put an end to them. More calculated risks. 

After Piccolo’s dramatic exit, they decided that if they could not fight, then they could at least delay the Androids’ mission by moving Goku. While the machines did not necessarily know his current location (according to Krillin), they did know far too much for comfort, and preparatory planning would put them at least at a minor advantage until the ill Saiyan got better. Which, Trunks projected from the antidote prescription, would occur in ten days. A long time to wait.  
Strategy set, the warriors began flying towards Goku’s house near Mt. Paozu, now turning their attention to the Saiyan girl in their midst; something she had dreaded since her big reveal.

“Well, there’s not much I can tell you that you haven’t already figured out,” she said.

“Your name would be a start,” said Tien.

“Katal.”

“Doesn’t sound too alien. Are you half-Saiyan like Trunks?”

“No. Pure-blooded. My family—” she stuck on that last word, “I was taken in here on earth.”

“But Vegeta was very clear. He and Goku are supposed to be the only pureblooded Saiyans left.”

“Hang on,” Krillin said, “It’s a pretty big universe out there, and you Saiyans just seem to keep appearing all over the place. It’s not too farfetched. Not every single Saiyan could have been on their planet when it was destroyed, could they?”

“That’s true,” Tien admitted, “I guess it really doesn’t matter now. We’re just glad to have you on our side.”

“Hm,” Krillin mused, “You’re about Trunks’ age, right? So the past you might not have even made it here yet. And if the timeline is what he said it was, we probably kicked the bucket right about now in your universe. At least that much has changed.”

Katal shrugged, she hadn’t really considered when she had arrived on Earth.

“Hey, Trunks,” Krillin called to the half-saiyan, who hung closer to the rear of the pack, “How did you meet Katal?”

Trunks smirked, remembering their shouting match in the Capsule infirmary.

“The same way everybody does in our time,” he said, “In the hospital.”

“Well then. How long have you guys been an item?” Krillin asked, grinning.

Katal and Trunks both turned a bright shade of magenta. 

“We’re not!” they shouted simultaneously.

“S-sorry!” Krillin sputtered, “Well, I mean—you can’t really blame me for thinking…”

He trailed off hopelessly. The rest of the trip passed in awkward silence, the Saiyan and half-saiyan avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Naturally, Krillin must have assumed that they were a couple after discovering that they weren’t related. Opposite gender friendships just had that stigma. And they had come back in a time capsule built for one. Katal's color deepened. She knew Trunks had to understand. He was the last connection tying her to this planet. Their standing didn’t really need clarifying. After all, they had never even considered the option. They were a master and pupil; friends; sparring partners against the Androids. Period.  
Tien eventually broke off from the group, wanting to train with a partner of his, leaving Katal, Trunks and Krillin to stew in the tension. Luckily, with their speed, it didn’t take them too long to reach the valley near Mt. Paozu, where they landed in front of a small, domed, picturesque cottage. Katal felt a stab in her heart. It reminded her of her own.

“Hold it, Trunks? Just one question,” Krillin said.

Trunks looked over his shoulder.

“The Androids,” the bald warrior said, wringing his hands, “Are they—uh—really as terrible as you say they are?”

“They’re ruthless and cold-blooded,” Trunks answered brusquely, “I’ve told you that before, Krillin. Why even ask?”

“Hey! I was just hoping we wouldn’t all have to fight. Really, that’s all, man!”

Suddenly, an image of Android Eighteen popped into Katal’s mind. She snuck a glance at Krillin, who had turned beet red as he knocked on the door. She soon shook off the thought and refocused on Goku. Though she had hoped for their encounter to come under better circumstances, she would finally get to meet the world’s greatest savio—

CRASH.

“GOHAN!” A shrill, black-haired woman had burst through the front door of the cottage. “Oh, it’s you Krillin.”

Krillin clutched at his skull, a large red lump forming on his cranium.

“Nice to see you too, Chi-Chi.”

—

Even bedridden and stricken with the heart virus, Goku still looked formidable to Katal. Huge muscles and broad shoulders. He towered taller than almost all of them, his spiky black hair notwithstanding. By the way his friends moved around him, she could tell how important he was. After shuttling him to an awaiting Capsule plane and taking off, joined quickly by the young Gohan, the group sat together and discussed the developments with the Androids. Meanwhile, Katal recounted her explanation of her heritage to Gohan, who had flipped out at the sight of her tail. Their time didn’t last long, however, as Chi-Chi thumped a large stack of textbooks in front of the little half-saiyan, who grudgingly accepted them. The briefest smile flashed on Katal's face, finding that she rather liked the boy. In the little half-saiyan coalesced a time without constant heartbreak, that people could still be pure and good; that they could focus on other things besides basic survival. 

This, however, was not that time. How had things gotten so out of control? In her time, there were only two Androids; weaker Androids at that. Instead of returning to a better world, she had come back to one more in danger than her own. Maybe coming back was the wrong choice after all. She hadn’t been much help. Recent events had made her limitations perfectly clear. But wasn’t a Super Saiyan supposed to be the pinnacle of power? Had the transformation, and the sacrifice she had suffered to attain it, been reduced to nothing in the face of these new threats? So far, she had had little bearing on unfolding events, despite her strength. With all of her progress, she still lived in the Androids’ shadow, incapable of helping those she cared about. But that would change soon. She’d compared her own strength to her mentor’s power level closely. After the recent injury, she was sure that she had now matched him in strength.

Her view drifted to Trunks, who was in the middle of explaining why they had come back. While the others listened, she watched his eyes. She could almost see their broken world reflected in them. His periwinkle irises shone with sadness and conflict, especially when he mentioned Bulma. Katal's stomach lurched. He felt it too.

“Hey,” said Krillin, shaking Katal from her haze, “Now we know why Trunks came, but you said you had a score to settle with the Androids.”  
Katal lowered her gaze, remaining silent. Trunks leaned over to the bald warrior and whispered something in his ear. Krillin instantly stiffened.

“Oh,” he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Katal met him with silence, her tail slowly snaking around her thigh.

Suddenly, Goku began to writhe and yell in pain on his cot in the center of the jet. The group had to restrain him as he jolted about, moving the entire plane with the force of his thrashing. Katal could only imagine what kind of agony he must be in with that heart virus. And yet he was still strong enough to resist multiple pairs of arms holding him down. Soon enough, he calmed down and breathed normally, freed from his apparent nightmare.

“We should be at Master Roshi’s in no time,” said the man in the pilot’s seat, Yamcha, “Hopefully Goku can manage to keep it together that long. Hey Krillin, call Bulma and tell her what we’re up to. She’ll be worried.”

Krillin shied away.

“What, me?”

“Yeah! I’m flying the plane, y’know.”

The bald man stalked to the COM, shooting a look at Trunks.

“No offense, you’re mom’s kind of hard to deal with sometimes.”

Trunks laughed, a wide grin on his face.

“Trust me, I know what you mean.”

Bulma’s voice crackled out of the speaker, her words faster than either Trunks or Katal could understand. 

“We’re all fine,” Krillin consoled her.

“Is my son there? I mean, Trunks from the future?” she asked, slow enough to comprehend, “Put him on the line. It’s important.”

“He can hear you, you’re on speaker.”

Trunks’ ears pricked up.

“Alright,” Bulma said, “Tell him we received a call from a guy the out in the country, somewhere to the west of here. He claims that he found some weird, old, abandoned vehicle and he wants to keep it. We didn’t know if it was one of our products or not but he swore to me that it had Capsule Corporation written right across it. So we asked him to send us a picture of it…I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it. It was a picture of the time machine that Trunks came in. And I’ve got bad news for you, it was a wreck.”

Katal and Trunks leaned in.

“But that can’t be true!” said Trunks, fumbling in his jacket to retrieve his case, “I’ve got it right here in its capsule.”

“Then how many time machines did we make in the future?” asked Bulma.

“How many? We barely managed to make one.”

“I’ll send you a copy of the photo. Give me a sec.”

A light on the plane’s dashboard beeped, and a slip of paper slid through the receiver. Trunks picked it up, nonplussed, and his eyes went wide. Katal glanced over his shoulder, her breath catching in her chest.

“Where is this?” asked Trunks, his periwinkle eyes darkening.

Katal scanned the page. There was no mistaking it. A decrepit, but exact replica of the time machine lay on the paper before them.


	11. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions begin to boil as Trunks and Katal investigate a new threat.

Immediately, Trunks and Katal set out from the jet to West Section 1050, where Bulma had traced the origin of the call and had said to meet. Trunks had wanted to go on his own, figuring that things might get dicy, but knew better than to even try and leave Katal behind. Gohan had wanted to join in too, but upon his mother’s wishes, he had stayed. Katal and Trunks tossed back and forth ideas for a bit, Trunks’ watch flickered.

“We’re entering the district,” he said, “Let’s spread out.”

They broke off in separate directions, each oddly glad to be rid of the other. During the trip, it was as if they were trying to avoid an elephant in the room, but neither knew what it was. Too much had happened since they had arrived in the past to give them any time to process what was going on; they hadn’t had the chance to create one. In fact, they found that they hadn’t talked about much of anything save what they had discussed with the others. This was nothing new to Trunks, knowing how opaque Katal could be, especially after her family’s deaths. But Katal was used to his openness. What changed?

Katal scoured the hillsides, searching for metallic gleam to tip her off. Eventually, she noticed a glint in the corner of her eye. Sure enough, as she got closer, she could make out the outline of the time machine, covered in moss and leaves.

“Found it!” she shouted.

She banked left, gliding in for a closer look. Upon landing, she started examining the battered shell of the machine, her brow thickening. Trunks landed in front of the machine, and with a poof, uncapsulated his intact copy. Had the rundown machine been intact, he knew that he would not have been able to discern between them. Trunks walked to the overgrown copy of his machine, brushing away a certain section of moss.

Bulma’s message was written there. _Hope!_

Katal brushed the outside of broken machine with her hand as she leapt to the top. A large, corrosive-looking hole gaped open on the glass bell, as if a giant ball of acid had seeped through it from the inside. There were claw marks on the controls too, as well as a peculiar looking purple casing.

“There’s something in here,” she called, “How do you open the top?”

“A switch on the outside, along the rim,” he answered.

Katal felt around, eventually clicking the switch. The hydraulics groaned and screeched as it opened. Gingerly, Katal picked up the brightly-colored casing, tracing along the bumpy ridges with her fingertips.

“What is it?” asked Trunks.

“Not a clue,” Katal replied, tossing him half of the shell. “Have any pets I don’t know about?”

The distant roar of an engine sounded overhead. A Capsule Corp jet streaked in, gracefully coming to a stop in the clearing nearby. A lively Bulma Brief hopped out, jogging over to meet the Saiyan and half-Saiyan.

“Oh thank goodness! You’re alright!”

“Glad to see you are too,” said Trunks, brightening as he hugged his mother.

“Thanks to you,” Bulma replied, “So tell me, what do you think of the younger version of your mother? Pretty cute, huh?”

Trunks turned a bright shade of cherry.

“I’d say you haven’t really changed that much,” he mumbled.

“Really? That’s great!” Bulma chirped, “That means I’ll keep my girlish good looks for at least another ten years.”

Katal hid a chuckle behind her hand, which only deepened Trunks’ color. Bulma put her hands on her hips.

“Well Trunks, aren’t you going to introduce me to this girl of yours?”

This time, it was Katal's turn to blush violently.

“This is my pupil, Katal,” said Trunks, forcing the words out as quickly as he could.

“Ooh, hot for teacher huh?” Bulma smirked at the girl.

Katal's throat went so tight that she couldn’t form a sound, her tail squeezing the life out of her thigh. Trunks turned redder than a tomato.

“We’re just sparring partners,” he insisted.

Bulma cocked her head.

“Hn. Too bad.”

Trunks took this as an opportunity to exit and gather the coordinate origin from the machine before the battery could die. He was shocked to find that it had come from the same time he and Katal had left, but it had travelled to four years prior to the current date. Utterly confused, he capsulated both machines and returned back to where Katal and Bulma were musing over the casing. They had apparently come to the conclusion that it was, in fact, an egg. Still, none of them could come up with a proper explanation for how it got there in the first place. Katal, meanwhile, decided to do a quick survey of the area, eventually happening upon a trail in the grass leading away from where the derelict time machine once stood. Intrigued, she followed it down into a small quarry. 

Where she let out a blood-curdling scream. 

Trunks rushed to her side, heart pounding. But before he could say a word, Katal leapt behind him.  A giant, moist, insect-like form lay before them. Its puce colored limbs huddled together beneath a larval body, a giant crack opening down the middle of its back. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?” she cried, peeking around his shoulder.

Trunks failed to suppress a guffaw, which turned into full-blown cackling. The mighty, proud, fearless Katal, scared of bugs.

“It’s not funny!” she shouted.

“It’s just a shell,” Trunks said through his laughter, “Jeez, don’t do that again.”

Katal's tail wound around her thigh. The color of her face faded entirely when she saw Trunks stick his hand inside the shell. Her stomach lurched as he brought it out, coated in muck. He held it out to Katal, who recoiled.

“Touch me with that hand and it comes off,” she growled.

Trunks wiped the slime on the grass with a grin.

“I’ll bet this thing was what came out of the egg in the time machine,” he said, “It must have molted.”

Just what we need, Katal thought, More trouble.

Seeing no other signs of the creature, Bulma left for Capsule Corp, the halves of the purple egg in tow, while Katal and Trunks took off towards Master Roshi’s, once again, at a loss. They had at least reasoned that someone had commandeered the time capsule to get the monster back here, and that the traveler’s motives could not have been good. The earth flew by beneath them, the valleys and plains muddling together in a brown and green blur, soon transforming to blue as they reached the ocean. General fatigue had sharpened their moods, settling them into an awkward silence. The air between them crackled with palpable tension, serving to heighten their mutual irritation further. After trying to catch his eye and failing for the umpteenth time, Katal couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, what’s your deal?”

“Nothing,” Trunks mumbled, his eyes fixed on the expanse of water below.

“Are you mad because I scared you?”

“No—“

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” Trunks repeated.

Katal's eyes narrowed.

“You’ve been avoiding me ever since we got to Goku’s house. Is this about what—“

“Kame house is up ahead,” Trunks cut her off, descending toward a speck of green and pink on the horizon. 

“Hey! I’m not through with you yet!”

At this, Trunks increased his speed, leaving her behind as he swept in for a landing on a small island with a pink beach house. Katal groaned and rolled her eyes, settling to the ground with a thump behind him. 

“You can’t dodge me forever.”

“We’ve got more important things to deal with, Katal!”

Trunks swung open the door to the house, where he found Krillin, Gohan, Chichi, Yamcha, and a few unfamiliar figures, gathered around the TV, expressions of shock and horror on their faces. The surprised half-saiyan only managed to catch the last moments of a frozen television reporter, face contorted with terror, before the screen faded to static. It didn’t take long to put two and two together.  
  
\--  
  
“So, it’s some kind of creature that’s causing all the trouble in Gingertown?” said Krillin, once he had finished recounting the broadcast, “It was the one who sucked away fifteen thousand people?”

“There’s no doubting it,” said Trunks, “We found its shell by the other time capsule.”

Katal's tail flicked behind her as she thought. The creature had to have been here for at least four years, according to the coordinates Trunks had gathered. Since not one of the fighters knew of its existence until she and Trunks had found the capsule, it must have lain dormant. Why would it surface now, so close to when Gero activated the Androids? Too coincidental.

“I’m going to Gingertown,” Trunks said, walking to the door.

Katal raised an eyebrow, the omission not lost on her. Blatant avoidance tactics aside, Katal found the idea of letting him go alone unsettling. While she did not particularly want to come face to face with the monster who’s shell stripped her of her dignity, the new explanation she had formed in her head was too plausible to ignore.  

“Alone, huh?”

“Don’t start this again—“

“I told Bulma I wouldn’t let you run off on your own,” she said, “So I’m coming. Besides, I’m not going to just sit here and miss all the action.”

“The Androids are what we need to worry about now,” Trunks replied, “You’re staying.”

Katal folded her arms. Several pairs of eyes widened around the room. 

“Really?” she said, “And just what are you going to do to stop me?”

From behind the sofa, a small, bearded old man shuffled to the front. 

“Don’t worry m’boy, I won’t let her out of my sight,” he said, leaning forward and adjusting his sunglasses.

**WHAP.**

The old hermit immediately found himself embedded in the Kame house wall. Everyone in the room visibly shrunk away, switching their gazes between the livid Katal and Roshi’s flailing legs.

“Well Trunks, I don’t think you’ll be trying anything now,” Yamcha chuckled nervously.

Trunks rested his head in his hand to hide the redness in his cheeks, swearing under his breath. Katal flushed magenta, her tail twisting harshly around her thigh, and reared another fist back.

“Honestly, you all are incorrigible,” Chi-Chi said, rolling her eyes and stepped towards Katal. “I understand that you want to help Trunks, dear. But we need someone to protect Goku if the Androids show up. And that goes for you too young man!”

Inches from the door, Gohan sighed and deflated. So close.

“But, mom!”

“Don’t you care about your father?” Chi-Chi snapped, “He’s upstairs battling out this virus and all you can think about is fighting some dumb creature.”

“But—Trunks might need my help,” Gohan protested.

“Your father needs you too!”

“Your mother’s right, Gohan,” said Trunks, regaining his composure, “Anyhow, I am a Super Saiyan. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Katal lowered her gaze. Both Chi-Chi and Trunks had points. If she weren’t here, she had no doubt that the Androids could easily overpower all of the others. And without the Dragonballs, there was no bringing Goku back. Their entire mission would fail.

“If things get dicy,” she conceded, “I’m coming after you.”

Trunks nodded with a small smile.

As he left the facade of the island behind, Trunks breathed a sigh of relief. The day had seemed to go on forever. Between his father, the Androids, this creature, and Katal, he had had no time to consider his own state of mind. He breathed in the ocean air, closing his eyes. Unfortunately, his mind trudged onward, almost immediately settling back on the tension between he and his Saiyan companion. At every turn, she had gotten herself into some kind of trouble. If only she would have stayed behind in the future; then he could deal with the events at hand without worrying. He groaned. Who was he kidding? She’d be just as restless back home, if not more so. Back there, she would have to deal with the death of her family and the Androids. Alone. 

He remembered how Gohan’s death had nearly torn him apart. Recklessly, he would try to confront the Androids, only to scrape away, barely alive. An image of Katal flashed in his mind, tail broken in two, the wounds and bruises shattering her skin as she wore her ferocious smirk. Unlike him, she didn’t fear death; and that’s what scared him the most.  
  
—  
  
The others at Kame house had wisely left the Saiyan to her own devices since her earlier outburst. Even Master Roshi had gotten the hint, recovering from the lump on his head with a girly mag on the couch. Katal's tail swayed back and forth as she stared out the window onto the water. Something had definitely shaken Trunks. He knew how to stay calm in a crisis, and seeing him so jumpy and tense made her wonder what was going on in that level head of his. Maybe he really was just worried about the Androids and didn’t want to jeopardize the mission at hand for a lead. He must have seen how things have changed here and wanted time to process it all on his own, avoiding distractions. Katal leaned back and watched a seagull scrape the waves with its wing. Was she a distraction now? She shook out her head. 

_The only way to go is forward._

Katal tried to convince herself that standing guard for Goku helped in some way, at least providing general peace of mind. But her mind was not at peace. Not one bit.  As long as those Androids walked in this world, or her own, she would never find peace. Now, this situation had forced her into stasis. Stasis meant thinking, something she had tried so very hard to avoid.

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

Katal spun around to see the little, scruffy-haired half-saiyan. How long had he been there?

“It’s not fun being left behind,” Gohan said, “When you just want to help.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat then,” she said with a small smile, “This happen to you often?”

Gohan shrugged.

“Well, I always come along to the fights, but I’ve never really been strong enough to make any difference.”

Katal smirked. She resembled that remark.

“You’re pretty tough for your age.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I couldn’t even fly when I was little.”

“Trunks seems like a pretty good master though. I’ll bet you’ve learned a lot.”

He’d say the same of you. She thought. The Saiyan found herself wanting to open up to the boy. His company put her at a strange ease, his vibrant energy a welcomed change from the hopelessness around them.

“Besides, my dad told me he couldn’t fly when he was little ether, but now he’s the strongest ever!”

“He must have had a good teacher.”

“Yeah, Master Roshi’s training is legendary.”

Katal’s jaw dropped. She stared at the old lecher who had since hidden away behind a girly mag.

“That guy,” Katal said slowly, after picking up her jaw off the floor, “That guy right there, trained _Goku?!_ ” 

“Hey! I may be old, but I can still hear you over there!” Master Roshi crowed, “You would do well to respect your elders.”

“Respect my a—”

Suddenly, her eyes shot to the window. One by one, the resident warriors popped their heads up, also feeling the change. Katal had already exited the house, running to the beach. Powers—huge powers—at least a half dozen of them—some that she recognized, some not. And out of nowhere! Her brow furrowed in confusion, her mind working at a breakneck pace. Two separate but identical energy signatures stood out, both unbelievably strong. She instantly recognized them both as Piccolo. Was that even possible? No way did the Namekian have that much power, and last she checked; there weren’t two of him. And how was she sensing Goku? He was up in the house, asleep. 

Just like that, Katal took off like a shot towards Gingertown, not bothering to address the two warriors running behind her. Whatever Trunks was feeling, he’d have to deal with it later.

\--

“That didn’t last long,” he said.

She sped forward and leveled out next to Trunks, who didn’t look particularly pleased to see her.

“It’s a miracle you got me to stay in the first place.”

“Well you were pretty scared of that shel—“

“I wasn’t _scared_ , I was surprised.”

Trunks rolled his eyes, a smile coming to his lips in spite of himself. Suddenly, one of the Piccolos’ energy spiked, and a blast shook the horizon, darkening the sky above a dome of flashing light. All three of the fighters in the air were at a loss.

“Radical,” Trunks breathed, “Why has Piccolo been hiding this kind of strength?”

The sheer amount of energy bouncing around was incredible. The signals fluctuated and changed, switching from one kind to the next. Gingertown soon came into view over the mountains. It was a quaint little village in comparison to the cities Katal was now used to, but it reeked of malevolent energy. All of the town’s ki seemed to culminate at one point, right near the false and real Piccolos. The trio sped up, spotting Piccolo in near a couple of steaming craters.

Katal had to force herself to land, betraying none of the disgust riling up inside her stomach. In front of Piccolo stood a tall, humanoid bug. It was the source of the town’s energy, all of the thousands of people. The creature tilted its head, considering Trunks and Katal as they ducked into fighting stances.

“Be careful,” Piccolo warned, “This guy is not one to be trifled with. And watch his tail!”

Trunks glanced at his pupil and did a double take. Katal was actually trembling. 

Meanwhile, her eyes were firmly on this new foe. She’d never seen something so repulsive. A sinister tail flicked behind the creature, coated in black spots on its scaly green skin. Its slit-like eyes surveyed the Saiyan and half-saiyan. A chill ran down her spine as its gaze lingered. The kind of evil emanating from it was unreal. The Androids didn’t have ki to sense. Though it had put her at a disadvantage when tracking them, she was almost grateful for it now.

“Well, I’d love to stay and entertain you all,” the creature said in a gravelly voice, “But I’ve got other plans.”

With that, it jumped upward, disappearing into the sun.

“SOLAR FLARE!” it screeched.

In a blinding flash of light, Katal was on her knees, clawing at her scalding eyes. Piccolo was cursing wildly somewhere nearby, and Trunks and Krillin were howling with pain. And just like that, the creature’s ki vanished.   
  
—  
  
Some time later, after the fighters picked up what was left of their dignity, they gathered together to discuss this new threat.

“Cell,” Katal said, “So that’s what that thing’s called.”

Her tail was tight around her thigh, and her fingers twitched on her folded arms.

“It’s a biological android. A fused combination of all of us,” Piccolo concluded, “Gero’s ultimate weapon.”

“I can’t believe there’s another one,” Trunks growled, clenching his fists, “Just how many of these monsters did Gero create?”

“We can’t let him get his hands on those two Androids. He’s more powerful than they are.”

Katal’s Saiyan pride suddenly flared inside her. Finally she had gotten used to the idea of matching Trunks in strength and paling next to Vegeta. Now two other warriors had surpassed them all.

Suddenly, the warriors glanced skyward, sensing another large power-level. Sure enough, Vegeta had finally decided to make an appearance. He landed with a thud next to the three warriors and frowned, his eyes fixed on Trunks. After a brief explanation from Piccolo, the Saiyan prince was all caught up.

“Only two androids, hm?” the Saiyan prince said, “Two extra at the start, the big one made three, do I hear four?”

“Father…”

Katal rolled her eyes.

“I’m curious,” Vegeta said, shifting his attention to Piccolo, “What are you, Namek? You look like Piccolo, but there’s no way that weakling possesses as much power.”

“I fused with Kami in hopes of attaining enough power to defeat the androids,” said the Namek, “Can we get back to the matter at hand?”

Vegeta bared his teeth. He sensed how strong Piccolo had become. Stronger than him.

“So that thing has my cells in it?” the Prince scoffed, “No wonder it wiped the floor with all of you. And here I thought you’d stumbled upon a worthy adversary. No matter. While you run off and find this bogeyman, I’m going to go tear those tin cans apart.”

True to form, he blasted into the air, leaving the others in the dust for the umpteenth time. Katal watched him go, and her eyes shifted to Trunks.

“What is he doing?” Trunks snarled, “Doesn’t he understand what’s going on? He had to have sensed that energy.”

“He knows it’s stronger than he is,” Piccolo said, “Than all of us are. We’re going to have to come at this from a different angle.”

But Trunks was no longer listening. He was firmly affixed to Vegeta’s energy trail, shooting up into the inky blue sky. 

“Alright. What about Gero’s lab?” Katal interjected, clocking Trunks’ reaction, “You said Cell formed in a tank in the bunker below it. We should go and see if the computer survived.”

“Good idea,” said Piccolo, “Decide among yourselves who’s going. In the meantime, I’ve got to try and find the Cell that’s here now. There’s no time to waste.”

Piccolo and Tienshinhan took off, choosing a direction at random

“Then it looks like we’re on lab duty,” Katal said.

Trunks let out an almost imperceptible groan, but Katal caught it.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re stuck with me,” she said, “Now suck it up and let’s get a move on.”

Katal snapped into the air, breaking the sound barrier before Trunks could protest. He had no choice but to follow.

“Katal!” he called over the wind.

As a response, she sped up a few machs, well out of his reach. While she couldn’t beat him in a fight, she could always beat him in a race.

“Showoff,” he murmured.

After a few minutes of silence, they soon passed into the Northern region. Katal flared her ki to warm up her skin, but kept the brunt of it propelling her forward. Trunks, at this point, was merely a speck in her dust, though she suspected that was intentional. After all, he could have easily ascended and made up the difference. Whatever he was thinking, it didn’t matter. So long as Katal kept him away from Vegeta and focused on the mission.

Katal touched down on the dusty remains of Gero’s lab, surveying the rubble. Trunks soon followed, more than a little annoyed.

“Does this really take both of us?”

“Unless you want me accidentally blowing up anything that could help us deactivate the androids,” Katal said, scuffling through debris, “I suggest you stick around.”

Trunks grumbled something under his breath and began searching for trapdoors, picking up a few rocks and scanning the surface of the mountain for metal. Upon moving a larger rock, he found a hole with a ladder falling into blackness. The bunker. 

“Hey, I’ve got something,” he said.

The Saiyans descended into the opening, landing with thuds on a tile floor. Katal's fingers searched the wall until she found the light-switch. As the lights came on, the two stiffened at the sight of it. A monstrous computer beeped away in the center of the room, surrounded by sinister looking wires and other devices. And in the center of it all stood a large tank with a tiny, twitching amalgamation of flesh.

“Disgusting,” Katal grimaced.

Trunks stepped around the machine, examining its structure.

“I’ll bet Bulma could figure that thing out,” said Katal.

“Yeah,” Trunks replied, “But we’re destroying it, not studying it.”

The half-saiyan walked around the lab, seeing nothing of interest, until a table caught her eye. Upon first glance, all he saw was a stack of papers. But upon closer inspection…

“Jackpot!”

Katal hurried over.

“What?”

“Look,” he said.

His hand brushed the surface of the paper. Katal looked over his shoulder, in awe of the sight. White lines across a blue page, all coalescing together in a familiar shape. Sure enough, he was looking at a detailed drawing of one of the very same Androids they had fought hours earlier, with a few complex equations sketched in on the side. A perfect blueprint of Android Seventeen.

“You know what this means?” he said, “Once my mother gets a look at this…”

“She can find their weakness,” Katal grinned, “See, aren’t you glad you stayed?”

Trunks couldn’t suppress a smile. That was, until he heard a few beeps come from the massive computer. A few bubbles rose in the tank, and the flesh wiggled a bit.

“At least we can get rid of one of these things,” said Katal.

Trunks capsulated the plans, affirming her.

“Together?” 

Katal raised her palms.

“Together.”

The Saiyans poured out dozens of blasts into the bunker. The tank ruptured, then dissolved beneath the combined effort of their attacks. What would have been another Cell vaporized instantly as one of the blasts enveloped it. At seeing it disappear, both of the Saiyans felt a cathartic release, at least for a moment. They would put an end to that creature before it began, and now they could at least say the trip was not a wasted effort, ending Gero’s presence on this earth for good. Suddenly, the walls began to shake, and cracks appeared in the ceiling above.

“We should go,” said Trunks, as Katal fired another blast into a server on the wall. She grit her teeth and hit another part of the obliterated machine. Debris was falling from the ceiling now.

“Katal, come on!”

But Katal didn’t stop. She continued raining blasts into other parts of the metal wall, not even caring where she hit. Trunks narrowly evaded a falling boulder, grabbing Katal's wrist.

“That’s enough!”

She snapped back into focus, seeing the cave collapsing around her. In a flash she was flying up the ladder, with Trunks hot on her heels. She turned back, and charged an even larger blast. Trunks spun out of the way as Katal delivered the final blow, causing the mountain to crack and fly in all directions. When the smoke cleared, a steaming crater was all that remained of the lab. Katal lowered her hands, her tail uncoiling from her waist. 

“Think we got it?” she said with a smirk.

Once again, though, Trunks wasn’t listening. He gazed into the sky to the south, his lavender locks blowing in the breeze.

“Take the plans to my mother.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“I want to go find my father and train with him.”

Katal closed her eyes and sighed. She’d been dreading this one.

“We need to find Cell,” she said, “That hothead can wait.”

Trunks finally turned to face her.

“So that’s it.”

“That’s what?”

“You _are_ scared of that thing."

Katal folded her arms. She'd never been afraid of anything in her life. Even when she ought to be. And she'd be damned if she ever admitted it.

"I'm not."

"There's no shame in asking for help--"

"Help? I brought you along so you would quit going after Vegeta."

Trunks' eyes narrowed.

"My father isn't your business—“

“Your mother made it my business. She told me to protect you," Katal said, gaining confidence, "That’s what I’m doing.”

“By keeping me from my own father? What’s wrong with you—“

“What’s wrong with me? How about him? He’s the one who wants nothing to do with you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What, was nailing you in the gut not enough of a signal for you?”

“How do you hate him so much?”

“How do you not, after how he’s treated you?”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t write someone off at the first sign of trouble.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never give anybody a chance, Katal. When anyone questions you, or even slights you, you cut them off like dead weight.”

“At least I’m not a punching bag.”

The second the words left her lips, she wanted to breathe them back in. Trunks’ eyes darkened. He flared his aura.

“At least I'm not a coward."

Without another word, he took off. Katal’s mouth hung agape a moment, before closing into a tight line. She shut her eyes. The cold of the north began seeping into her skin.

She hated it when he was right.


	12. Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Trunks goes off to train with his father, and Katal heads for West City, the threat of Cell continues to loom.
> 
> A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one! My life has been utterly bananas these last two months. I graduated college, and landed an incredible once-in-a-lifetime writing opportunity, so I've been hard at work on that front.
> 
> Unfortunately, this is a shorter chapter and it might be awhile before the next one. Fear not though, I haven't forgotten my girl! ;)

The biting cold of Yunzhabit heights stung Trunks’ cheeks as he touched down on the frozen earth. Jagged cliffs towered all around, slicing the wind like pillars on a pipe organ. Breathing deep, the half-saiyan huffed and expanded his aura. Perhaps he was warming his body with radiating ki—or perhaps, he was announcing his presence.

“You have some nerve, boy,” said a gravelly voice.

On a nearby cliffside. the Saiyan prince stood, leering out over the edge. He’d been coming out here since his defeat, utilizing the icy cold as an ideal ki training environment. For hours, he’d slip into meditation, while maintaining just enough of a ki boost to keep him warm. It turned out to be a valuable tool, since he couldn’t risk physical injury shadow sparring. Or, as the case might soon be, real sparring. 

“Father—”

“Whatever you’re here for, forget it,” Vegeta interjected, “Now piss off. You’re interrupting my training.”

“That’s why I’m here. I want to train with you.”

A soft chuckle left the prince’s nose, just loud enough for the waiting ears to hear. Trunks let out an angry sigh of his own. He would not be so easily deterred. Straightening up, he approached his father, only to be blasted backward by a wall of ki.

“Pathetic,” Vegeta growled.

The half-saiyan got to his feet, an all too familiar scowl on his face.

“You say you want to train with me, and you can’t even keep your footing,” Vegeta scoffed, “Even the bald one at least managed that.”

“You caught me off guard.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. I’m sure your enemies will always wait until you’re ready.”

Incensed, Trunks charged and readied a right cross. It was only when he reached his final step and pull-back that he realized—he hasn’t moved. He couldn’t block it in time.

Inches from his father’s head, Trunks stopped mid-punch. The exertion torqued his shoulder, causing him to grimace in pain. It wasn’t easy to stop a planet-busting blow in its tracks, after all.

Vegeta could feel the heat of the ki radiating off his son’s fist. The spiky black hairs on his head seemed to pull towards it, sparking with bits of static. Just as he had suspected.

“I knew your feelings would stop you,” he murmured, “That’s what makes you weak.”

Unlike his son, Vegeta withheld nothing as he slammed a return fist into Trunks’ face. The half-saiyan careened into the opposing cliffside, cracking a mountain in two. After the stars cleared from his eyes, Trunks found himself already feeling the biting pull in his neck. He hadn’t expected his father to pull punches, but that one was something else. After a hit like that, he was going to have whiplash for days. A small price to pay, he knew deep down. Had he not braced at the last moment, he was sure his neck would have snapped.

Shaking out his head, Trunks pulled himself from the hole he’d made, and touched back down on level ground. Vegeta was waiting for him there, his arms folded across his breastplate.

“If you want to be my punching bag, boy, I won’t stop you,” he said, “But I train alone.”

Vegeta turned back to his perch facing the mountain range, looking to the world like he hadn’t moved an inch since he’d gotten there. 

“If you insist on staying, the least you can do is keep quiet.”

Trunks grit his teeth, but said nothing. Instead, he took a seat on a boulder, cheek in hand. 

He hated when she was right.  
  
—  
  
A sheet of green and brown, speckled with occasional lakes and rivers, passed below her. It seemed to stretch on endlessly. For awhile, Katal was sure she’d lost her bearings. She knew the way to Capsule, but the western sea was nowhere in sight, and she’d been speeding along fast enough to cover half the planet by now.

The monster’s face flashed over and over in her mind. Those jaundiced, slitted eyes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen them somewhere before. Some shadow in a far-off distant nightmare. Only now, it wasn’t so distant anymore. 

Why was she so afraid? It couldn’t be his strength. Every opponent she’d ever faced had been stronger than her. So what was it?  She shook her head and growled aloud. This was pathetic. She was a warrior. She feared nothing. Least of all some stupid, overgrown grasshopper. Soon enough, she was back on course. 

The noise hit her first. The cars, the footsteps, the sirens… _the laughter._

West City was _alive._

The buildings were intact. Shining, even. When was the last time she had seen glass shine in the sunlight? Or people walking the streets midday? It took her breath away.

Katal touched down on the front lawn of Capsule, clutching the plans from Gero’s lab inside a capsule. As she examined it in her palm, she realized she’d bent indentations into the hull from holding it so tight. She made a mental note to praise Bulma for her Saiyan-proof handiwork.  
Without thinking, she made her way straight to the kitchen, where she startled a blonde woman making cakes. After explaining and apologizing—and making off with a piece of cake…or five—she finally made it to the lab.

Hip deep in papers and mechanical parts, Bulma was hard at work on some new invention. A smile flitted across Katal’s face. Even now, when the world could be destroyed at any moment, she was still inventing.

Meanwhile, a little coo came from a nearby crib. Baby Trunks wriggled about, his little hands playing with a scale-perfect mobile of the solar system. Katal couldn’t look at him for long.

Bulma glanced up from her work, welding goggles askew in her blue locks.

“Katal? What are you doing here? Where’s Trunks?“

“I’ve got something for you.”

She uncapsulated the plans, handing the sheets to Bulma. Without missing a beat, the scientist turned about, shoving paper and metal alike off her desktop and slammed the plans onto the table.

“These are—“

“Plans for the androids. Turns out Gero had a bunker below his lab.”

The scientist stared in awe, running her hands over the pages.

“It’s a miracle these didn’t get incinerated.”

“You’re telling me.”

Bulma glanced up, noting the diversion in Katal’s voice.

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

Katal glanced down at her feet.

“Where is my son?” Bulma asked again.

“He’s fine.”

“That’s no answer.”

“…he went to find Vegeta.”

“Then he’s not fine.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“Go after him.”

“He won’t let me.”

“From what I’ve heard that’s never stopped you.”

A cry erupted from the crib as Baby Trunks pulled his hand back. Pluto’s string had wrapped itself around his wrist, pulling tighter as he struggled.

“Shhh,” Bulma cooed, picking him up and working the knot with her free hand.

“I bet you’re wondering, aren’t you?”

Katal blinked twice, turning her attention from the boy to Bulma.

“Why I chose Vegeta?” said the heiress.

The Saiyan said nothing—which was confirmation enough.

“He’s a jerk,” Bulma went on, “A real stubborn one too. He’s rude. Arrogant. Messy.”

“You’re not making much of a case.”

“My point is,” Bulma said, finally loosening the knot on Trunks’ wrist, “It’s all an act. A convincing one, don’t get me wrong. He doesn’t even drop it with me most of the time. But if you can get past all his talk of Saiyan pride and surpassing Goku and all that…deep down, there’s more to him. And I think Trunks can see that.”

Katal folded her arms and pursed her lips. Bulma took this as her cue to put baby Trunks back in the crib, where he began sucking his thumb. Katal’s eyes fixated on the boy. This pudgy, snot-nosed little thing would one day grow up to be the same man who would call her a coward.

“I’m gonna check on Goku,” she said, turning to leave, “See if you can find a way to shut these things down.”

Bulma sighed, glancing at the plans on the table.

“Just make sure my kid comes back with all his limbs, please.”

“If he doesn’t, neither will Vegeta.”

Katal shut the door behind her. Bulma shook her head and smirked to herself. Saiyans. She adjusted the goggles on her head, looking back at the schematics at hand.

“Alright, let’s see what Dr. Gero was up to…”  
  
—  
  
A whisper rushed through the trees. Branches snapped. Light tracks formed in the dirt. The shadow froze beneath the canopy, its glinting yellow eyes peering from between the leaves. Cell licked his scaly lips. His gaze was set on a small hangar, looming over a wide open tarmac. He could sense them all inside. The few citizens that had escaped his grasp at Nicky Town. Pulsing. Breathing. Waiting. Begging to be devoured.

Seizing the moment, the android burst from the foliage and rocketed across the pavement. He kept his steps cautious, breathing long and deep.

As he approached the hangar, he noted the guards at the door outside. They were fatter than one would expect. Less fun. He’d make sure they suffered for that.

“Oh no, there he is!” cried one.

He cocked a machine gun and fired, jaw strewn open in horror as the bullets bounced harmlessly off their target.

Cell noted the taste as he sucked them up. _Who knew guards were so well marbled?_

The humans were clamoring and trampling one another as they broke through the exits. Some even went for the windows. All of them fell one by one to the android’s gaping tail. Screaming from inside reverberated through him. It filled him with energy. The euphoric high couldn’t be matched, save for the thrill of battle. 

But as he finished off the last of his victims, a cool anger set over him. The high was gone, and the hunger had already started to creep back in. These puny souls. They couldn’t even sate him for a moment. They were less than useless.

Then he heard the whimpering.

Cell’s lips turned to a grin. This one, he wanted to savor.

Deep in the hangar, hiding behind a tool bench, Sis and Tommy clung to one another. The monster’s steps clattered across the floor. They sounded almost metallic. What was this thing made of? Was he a secret government experiment gone rogue? Whatever it was, Sis knew one thing. It would not take her brother from her.

Choking back tears, she watched the monster’s shadow as it loomed along the wall. She was supposed to have called her girlfriend right about now, celebrating passing her pilot’s exam. She was going to take Tommy on his very first flight. But her girlfriend hadn’t answered. Neither had her family out by Basil fields. Sis stroked her brother’s hair, desperately clutching his head to her chest to silence his cries.

In the distance, she spotted the rim of the hangar. A familiar plane waited there. It gleamed yellow and gold in the sunlight. Her instructor’s prized Gulf Niner. She knew every inch of it. She’d studied it for weeks. And now she’d finally get to fly it. If it was the last thing she ever did.

“Alright Tommy, get ready to run,” she whispered.

“Sis, what’s happening?”

“Just like I told you. We’re gonna fly.”

She gripped his hand tight.

“Are you ready? One, two…”

Her breath stilled. A shadow passed over her face. A long, snaking tail emerged above the bench, dangling just above them.  It knew they were there.

“Ah ah ah…” its croaky voice echoed.

“Go, Tommy go!” Sis cried.

Dodging and bolting, the kids narrowly missed the sharp point of Cell’s tail, which cracked the tool bench clean in half. As they ran, a chilling laugh echoed off the walls of the hangar.  Sis dragged Tommy by the arm, sprinting toward the Gulf Niner. Once they were in the air, they were safe. She was sure of it. Just a few more steps. That’s all she needed.

Cell followed at a brisk walk behind. Of course he’d never meant to catch them. Not when they had such hope running through their veins. Little did they know the debate idling in his mind as he watched them. What would be sweeter? Should he let them reach the door, or the controls?

Meanwhile, Sis’s eyes were glued to her target as she ran. Though Tommy could barely keep up, he knew he couldn’t let his sister down. So he ran alongside, even though his lungs were burning. They were almost to the plane now. But the monster was gaining, and fast. A terrible thought struck the boy. _We’re not going to make it._

“Hurry, Tommy!”

“But Sis—”

“Keep running. We’re almost there!”

“Sis, watch out!”

Cell was speeding full force at them now. Worse still…he wasn’t touching the ground.

With a light push, Cell knocked the kids to the asphalt. Sis skidded into the pavement, scraping her knees and face. Tommy followed behind, slamming into his sister’s back and tumbling to the side. The monster glided straight over them, laughing as he did so.

Sis cringed and opened an eye, only to see that Cell now stood atop the left wing of the Niner. Her whole body shook with fear.

 _It could fly?_

“Sorry, young humans,” Cell cackled, “I’m afraid you aren’t cleared for takeoff today.”

“You…" Sis murmured, "You monster!”

“Yes, you’re certainly the first one to call me _that_ today. How original.”

“What do you want from us?” Sis cried, clinging to Tommy, “Why are you doing this?”

“The question is,” Cell said with a whip of his tail, “Why not?”

"So we're just some game to you?"

“You’ve got a lot of spirit for someone who’s about to die. I like that.”

“Then get a load of me!”

Cell’s grin vanished. His senses piqued. That voice hasn’t come from the girl on the ground.  It came from the air. 

WHAM. Stars filled Cell’s eyes as he rocketed headfirst into the pavement. He buried a full ten feet before the shallow bedrock stopped him in his tracks. With a mighty roar, his aura flared. He blew a crater ten feet wide to unhinge himself from the ground. As he pulled himself from the rubble, he discovered to his irritation that the plane was already running.

“I hope you enjoyed that. It’s the last time you will ever get the better of me,” he growled, turning his attention to his new challenger.

Astride the wing of the plane, the fighter scowled back. Her golden aura flowed from her skin, spiked and erratic. Her fists clenched tight to keep from shaking.

“You wish,” said Katal.

**Author's Note:**

> Being a woman and growing up in the DBZ fandom, I've always longed for a female character in the canon that I could get behind. Bulma could have been, had she not regressed to a nag and a set of ample titties. Eighteen could have been, had she not gone from the most powerful being on the planet to Krillin's obedient sex-bot. Chi-Chi? Forget it.
> 
> And so I created Katal. A Saiyan who's just as proud, just as abrasive, and just as divisive as any of her canon counterparts. A Saiyan who doesn't win right away. Who struggles. Who fights. Who pisses people off. And who has a strength and determination that could make little girls say: "If I work hard, I can save the world too!" 
> 
> I hope you'll continue on her journey with me!


End file.
